Tin Star
by lilmouse
Summary: Originally a challenge response. The death of a lieutenant leads to odd twists and her daughter's fate is in the balance. Featuring Tony but everyone is involved. Traces of Kate. Chapter Thirteen posted. My thanks to all.
1. Chapter 1

**June 21, 2005 – Gotta Love Tony! Challenge**

**In fewer than 1,000 words, write a story where Tony tells someone about a scene from a movie under unusual circumstances. _Deadline: Midnight, June 24, 2005._**

**And at 1,448 words, I guess I missed the mark a bit. I thought about trimming it, but I like it best the way it is now and have decided not to compromise the piece. Especially since I don't think too many people are able to respond, if anyone wants to go over the limit, be my guest. ****;) You have my permission as I set the challenge in the first place! LOL**

**This is my first venture into NCIS fiction. I haven't seen all the episodes, and as this is an itty-bitty challenge, it was agreed that Betaing wasn't required. Any errors in continuity et cetera are my own. I don't own these characters, just having fun with their universe.**

**Since it is so short, there is only the barest on continuity concerns: It takes place after 'Twilight'.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Tin Star **

**By Mouse**

_**"You risk your skin catching killers and the juries turn them loose so they can come back and shoot at you again. If you're honest you're poor your whole life and in the end you wind up dying all alone on some dirty street. For what? For nothing. For a tin star."**_

_- Martin Howe (Lon Chaney Jr.), High Noon, 1952_

"Tell me a story."

Special Agent Tony Dinozzo stares at the child in his arms, her small hands pressed against his bulletproof vest, eyes huge in the twilight.

"A story?" Did his voice usually sound this hoarse?

_Only after yelling for three hours…_

The small head nods, eyes never leaving his face.

"Uh…"

"What're you waiting for, Dinozzo?"

The voice of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs is harsher than his but then he has more reason to sound that way. Their investigation has led them here, where it all started, and he's been yelling into a cellular 'phone and barking orders over gunfire for far too long. They are currently pinned down behind the barn on the Garvey property, near a field of rotting wheat husks. Three assailants roam the area, using the out buildings for cover, circling like wary coyotes closing in for the kill.

Three NCIS agents can be found along their trail, like breadcrumbs. There hasn't been time to deal with their deaths or their bodies.

He and Gibbs are the only agents left to guard their charge.

Tony's throat is dry and he licks his lips, desperate for water they don't have. He glances to his left and connects with the blue eyes of command. They seem to be the only colour remaining in a day being bleached of life with the setting sun, making everything shallow and dull, like cardboard.

"The little lady asked for a story."

Tony clears his throat. If they hadn't moved their only witness to the complicated homicide of Lieutenant Helen Garvey - _her mother_ - she'd be a fragile corpse in a pink Barbie dress on Ducky's table right now. They'd managed to avoid that eventuality so far, but things went wrong from the get-go. Someone ratted and the enemy found them. Tony knew he'd have to take a number behind Gibbs to hunt that bastard down when they got out of this mess.

_If_ they got out of this mess.

Gibbs cell 'phone ran out of juice while he was speaking with McGee earlier. _That's what happens when you leave it on your desk without putting it in the charger. _The technologically challenged Gibbs made some reference to paper cups and string being more reliable.

Tony's cell 'phone, however, had enough of a charge to reach McGee, who is currently stuck in traffic with their back up and mad as hell. He and Gibbs shared a smile on hearing the unexpected expletives. Now they wait and hope they can hold out until the cavalry arrives.

His 'phone is dead now. He winces at his choice of words. Not _dead_. Just… needs recharging.

He licks his lips again. _Just needs… water._

He tries not to think about the few clips of ammunition they have between them.

He looks down at the child they've sworn to protect. She's a bright spark. Has entertained them on and off for the last two days. She's listed all the states and named their capital cities. She got a few of the cities mixed up, but it's the sort of information Tony doesn't keep handy so he's impressed. She knows a number of songs about animals. Can name all seven dwarves and sing the 'Heigh-Ho' song, repeatedly. She's seen 'The Little Mermaid' five hundred times, she says.

_If Kate was here_, Tony thinks, _she'd be the one comforting the girl. She's good with kids._

_Was_ good with kids. The ache tries to grip his chest and squeeze but he pushes it away before too much memory surfaces. Not the time. Not the place.

It doesn't help that Lieutenant Garvey named her daughter Katie.

"Tony." His gaze snaps back to Gibbs. "Story." His eyes flick towards the body of a downed agent, lying nearby as if in sleep. _"Now."_

"Okay." He takes a deep breath; he isn't good with kids. "Once upon a time, there was a man name Will Kane, and he was the Marshall of a small town in the Wild West. It was his last day on the job. He'd just got married."

Gibbs snorts. "'High Noon'. Cute, Dinozzo."

"At least you _know_ it, unlike _McGee_." Some of their usual banter makes a brief appearance. "Nineteen fifty-two. Gary Cooper - who was fifty at the time, by the way - and Grace Kelly. Directed by Fred Zinnemann. John W. Cunningham wrote the story and Carl Foreman did the screenplay. One of the best westerns ever."

Gibbs holds very still and scans the area beyond through the narrow gap between the tractor seat and the engine, looking for movement. The equipment has been in the sun all day and it's still warm, though as night seeps into the earth, it will grow cold, and they'll wish they had warmer clothing. October can be a moody bitch of a month.

"Was there a dragon?"

Startled, he looks down at the girl again. It amazes him how resilient kids can be.

"No, but there was a… very bad man that the Marshall put in prison years ago and he's been set free and is coming to the town with his gang to kill the Marshall."

"Was he a Jedi?"

Tony frowns. "How old are you again?"

"Seven." Suddenly, her voice isn't very steady. She probably wonders if she's done something wrong by the expression on his face. _Damn._

"He wasn't a Jedi, Katie." He tries to speak gently. Saying that name hurts. "He's defended the town a long time but the people who live there won't help. They're too scared. And his new wife doesn't want anything to do with guns. So he has to face these bad men by himself."

"That isn't fair," she states indignantly, removing one of her tiny hands from his vest long enough to push her blood stained cardigan to one side.

It's the blood of the dead agent who had been carrying her when they made the dash from the barn. The dead agent who is staring blindly at the sky with a few rounds in his bulletproof vest and one that destroyed the left side of his skull.

"Sometimes life isn't fair, Katie girl." Gibbs speaks with a very soft voice and Tony isn't entirely sure if his boss is speaking to them or has shifted to another place.

"But it turns out the Marshall's wife _doesn't _leave on the train after all and helps him fight, even though she doesn't like guns."

"What about the people?"

"They stay hidden or leave before the bad men get there."

"They should help him." She squints at both their faces in the growing gloom. "You'd help him."

"Of course." Tony adjusts his hold on her, as if he can protect her just by his presence. He has graphic knowledge that it doesn't work that way. "It's what we do."

"Why doesn't he leave?"

"He's tired of running. The final fight is… spectacular. Very good."

"Do the good guys win?"

"Yeah."

A bullet pings off the tractor seat. So they didn't get the one with the sniper rifle after all.

"He's in the silo," Gibbs murmurs, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Where the hell is McGee?"

"Tony, on a count of three, I want you to take Katie and head back through the barn. Find a spot you can defend, maybe the hayloft and stay low. I'll cover you."

"And who's gonna cover _you_?"

"Stow it, Dinozzo." Blue eyes pin him. "That's an order."

"Got it, boss." He's keeping it light but he has a horrible feeling of déjà vu.

"One -"

"Are you sure -"

"Two -"

"Boss -"

_"Three."_

Gibbs leans around the tractor and fires. Tony swiftly hugs the girl to his chest and runs as best he can, staying low and following a serpentine path towards the barn.

The bullets thudding into the back of his bulletproof vest knock him down just before he reaches the doors. Katie is under him, screaming. _Damn._

The last thing he hears before he loses consciousness is a series of sirens and a rally of fresh gunfire; the cavalry has arrived. The last thing he sees before he can no longer focus on his surroundings is a cluster of three people, kneeling beside him, staring down at his face: Grace Kelly, Katie Garvey, and Caitlin Todd.


	2. Chapter 2

**September 22, 2005 – Gotta Love Tony! Challenge**

**"In fewer than 1,000 words, write a story where Tony tells someone about a scene from a movie under unusual circumstances. _Deadline: Midnight, June 24, 2005."_**

**That was almost three months ago, and folks are still discovering this small story that wasn't going to do anything more than respond to the Challenge I set.**

**This chapter is longer than the first and came about because of the warm reception the story continues to receive. I'm sorry I took so long. Hec, someone even offered me a cookie to write more… :)**

**This is only my second venture into NCIS fiction. I still haven't seen all the episodes, and as this was an itty-bitty challenge, it was agreed that Betaing wasn't required. I continue to write based on that, so any errors in continuity et cetera are my own. I don't own these characters, just having fun with their universe.**

**Since it was initially going to be a short one-shot, there was only the barest of continuity concerns: It takes place after 'Twilight'. Now that I've done another chapter, that still applies, of course, but I hope I don't contradict anything established by the show as I follow Tony on his journey…**

**Enjoy!**

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Two**

**By Mouse/lilmouse/same person :)**

**"Don't try to be a hero! You don't have to be a hero, not for me!"**

_-Amy Fowler Kane (Grace Kelly), 'High Noon', 1952_

Special Agent Tony Dinozzo lies in a plain, brutally sterile environment, white sheets slightly worn from frequent washings and walls scrubbed of colour to protect against contamination.

He might compare the state of the semi-private room with prison décor, only there isn't enough grey. He might lean to the curtain separating him from an elderly man in for a triple by-pass and joke about having a file baked into a cake, so they can both make a break for freedom. He might flirt with the nurses and tell them he doesn't need his pain medication to keep him happy because their smiles are sufficient.

He isn't saying anything right now, however.

He is unconscious from the various drugs that are helping him sleep and heal. He has a bruise on his face and his jaw is probably very sore from where it impacted with the ground when he fell. The bandage over the left side of his skull is testament to how difficult it is to shoot a falling target with a rifle. His head took quite the jarring when it hit the ground, resulting in a concussion. The IV stand beside him carefully controls and monitors his saline and medication, keeping him hydrated and dousing his body with chemical heaven so he isn't screaming.

Another bandage covers the right side of his posterior. A bullet from a Glock went there and he required surgery to have it removed.

There are bruises on his lower back where the shotgun slugs flattened against his protective vest, small knots of fading colour that will leave him sore and aching for a while. It's to the left and down of T12, alarmingly close to his spine, missing it by the sheer luck of him twisting as he dropped. He's had bruises before. His kidney bears the bulk of the pain for this injury. Of course, he doesn't know this yet, doesn't know he's anywhere but oblivion.

It seems the Irish don't have the market cornered when it comes to luck.

When Tony finally opens his eyes, he stares at the white ceiling and smells the disinfectant and knows he could be alive _or_ dead and in Hell. He hates hospitals. Not as much as Gibbs seems to - there _is _the female staff to consider as a plus - but this isn't his favourite place. He's drifting, knows he must be on pretty good shit, and it takes him a moment to focus on the woman sitting in a visitor's chair at the foot of his bed.

Grace Kelly looks beautiful even in the plain pioneer dress she wore in 'High Noon'.

Tony fell in love with her when he was a teen and first discovered the lovely actress in Hitchcock's 'Rear Window'. The dim hospital lighting doesn't tarnish her golden hair and her eyes are the bluest shade of the summer sky. Her skin is porcelain perfection. She smiles gently, as if uncertain of his reaction, looking vulnerable but strong simultaneously. It is no wonder he has a thing for blondes.

"You're not real… are you?" he whispers. His voice is hoarse and it hurts a little to speak. He licks his lips and swallows a few times, hoping to ease the ache in his throat.

She shakes her head once. "No." Her voice is like an echo heard from down a long, empty corridor. There is a substantial pause as he wonders what to say.

"I loved you in 'High Society'," he finally manages.

"Thank you."

"What're you doin' here?" His voice slurs a bit from the drugs.

She shrugs. "You wanted me here." When her face starts to slip backwards, as if she is moving rapidly down a tunnel, he closes his eyes quickly and swallows, fighting the disorientation, fighting sleep.

"Is Katie okay?" He realizes they've just established that he is hallucinating, but he has to ask someone about the little girl. His last memories of Katie Garvey involve pinning her to the ground with his body and listening to her terrified screams as he protected her from harm. Then she was somehow looking down at him while kneeling beside two of the women he admires. He has to know her fate, and Grace Kelly is sitting right there.

"She's fine, Tony," another female voice assures him, and he opens his eyes again very slowly, daring to hope this part is real.

Caitlin Todd relaxes in the chair where Grace Kelly sat seconds before. She is wearing one of her casual suits, cream with a deep green top underneath. She looks fresh and elegant and alive.

"You're a hero," she continues, her voice lacking the echo quality of his previous visitor. "Maybe they'll give you a medal for bravery in the line of duty."

Tony can suddenly feel her blood on his face, sharp and hot, and he can smell it, too. He holds his breath so he _won't_ smell it anymore. It contradicts what he's seeing.

"Breathe, Tony, or you'll turn blue," she teases, and smiles.

There is no bullet hole in her forehead and her hair is immaculate.

His next breath comes out reluctantly and he says in a rush, "You're not real either, are you, Kate?"

Her smile fades. "No." She finds something, some thread or speck of lint to pluck from her slacks that distracts her. "I wish I was, but they've got you on some good drugs, Dinozzo, and you're having quite the trip." She leans forward and whispers, as if she has confidential information and someone might hear her. "Did you know one of the bullets went into your butt?"

He unexpectedly finds himself smiling. It's a slow smile and his skin feels tight, but he can't _not_ smile at her. "I did not know that."

_God, how I miss you…_

Kate laughs. "They had to do surgery. And you're lucky you didn't blow out your spine on this case." She shakes her head. Tony squints at her, trying to memorize every detail. "You're going to be sore for a while."

"I'll live."

It's automatic, swapping quips with her, that it isn't until she looks down and bites her bottom lip that Tony realizes what he just said.

"Kate, god, I'm so sorry - I didn't mean -"

"I know," she replies softly.

And she stills, hands folded in her lap and meets his gaze again. Her eyes are huge.

"If you're not really here," Tony begins, trying to focus on her face. Beside him, the IV unit methodically pumps the dosage as set by his doctor. "An'… I've been out of it… how can I be tellin' myself this stuff?"

Kate Who Isn't There tilts her head to one side, frowning slightly. "What 'stuff'?"

"My… medical status." It takes a lot of effort to say that. He can feel himself slipping under again.

She looks at a spot on the wall behind his head and appears to consider the question seriously. "Maybe you came close enough to consciousness at some point to register the information being discussed by the interns, at a subliminal level."

His mind goggles at the idea. "Wha'?"

She laughs. It's a sound he hopes he'll never forget, though there are times since her death where he finds himself stopping whatever he's doing because he thinks of her and realizes he can't remember what her voice sounded like. It terrifies him.

"Go to sleep, Tony."

"No… don' wan' to…"

She raises one eyebrow and grins. "I don't think you have a choice, 'Sex Machine'."

"You're… You're jus' sayin' tha' to make me feel better…"

"Nighty-night, Tony."

"No." He lifts a hand to reach for her. "Don' go, please…"

_I'm not a hero. I couldn't save you. Let me save you now…_

She looks sad. "I can't stay, Tony. And you need your rest."

He realizes with some alarm that he can see through her to the back of the chair. She is fading, like the stars at dawn.

_Sweet Kate, Bonnie Kate…_

"_No…_" He shifts enough of his upper body and moves his arm to push himself upright. The lines going into his wrist tug and hurt. He's moved too suddenly, feels dizzy, and he grabs for the IV stand to stop himself from falling out of bed. The stand topples to the linoleum floor with a terrific crash that shatters the monastery silence.

Kate gasps. "Tony!" He looks up in time to see her concerned expression before she disappears completely.

Someone has pulled the nurse's bell because a tinny, disembodied voice asks, "Can I help you?"

"The young man beside me," a quavering voice says. "Something's wrong, something's fallen over. Please come!"

The intercom clicks off and Tony can hear the sound of several people running, closing in on his location. He knows he is sliding and he doesn't have the strength to stop himself. His body is shaking as he keeps one hand gripping the bedrail in a desperate attempt to stay on the bed.

Gibbs makes it through the door before the medical staff and quickly assesses the situation. He jumps the IV stand and grabs Tony by the shoulders, carefully lifting him back onto the mattress. Tony lies there, fighting his own panic and the pain that surges through his body. His muscles have seized from disuse and even the medication can't prevent a spike of awareness of just how much damage he has endured. Nurses cluck over the mess and right the stand, silence the beeping alarm it started when it landed and check bags for punctures. One of them leaves, presumably to get a doctor. The other two are talking to one another regarding his status and the IV.

Tony looks up at Gibbs, who hasn't left his side.

"Hey," he says.

"You've been unresponsive for six days and all you can say is 'Hey?'"

"Huh?"

"That isn't much better, Dinozzo. What did you think you were doing? Going home?"

"No." How does he make Gibbs understand when he doesn't fully understand it himself? "Kate was…" He makes a feeble gesture with his right hand towards the chair. A nurse grabs it before it drops back to the mattress and checks his wrist to adjust the needles. "She said she had to go. I… I _tried_ to stop her, boss…"

Gibbs watches him closely, a muscle twitching once in his jaw. "It's okay, Tony," he says quietly. "You have to let her go."

Tony struggles to find the energy to reign in his emotions, find his bravado, and pull something smug from his vocabulary to cover the awkwardness. Tries to find the mask he wears so no one will see his grief.

All his coping mechanisms elude him.

Later, he will blame the drugs. For now, he sobs, chest heaving in waves of guilt and despair as his boss holds his shoulders steady. The nurses consult in quiet murmurs. A doctor, obviously summoned and aware of the circumstances, enters calmly and injects something into Tony's IV. She departs with a nod to Gibbs. The others decide to return in about fifteen minutes when a pair of glaring blue eyes silently demands some privacy.

Gibbs doesn't care about the condition of his jacket as Tony clenches the sleeves with his fists. He holds his agent, his friend, until the younger man finally cries himself into exhaustion and succumbs to the effects of the Nembutal.

To be continued? Please let me know. :)


	3. Chapter 3

October 4, 2005: Another chapter, folks. I hope it doesn't disappoint. I'm running with the story a bit with no idea how long it will take to tell.

As with previous chapters, this has not been Betaed for continuity within 'NCIS' lore et cetera, therefore any errors are my own darn fault.

I do not own these characters but I don't think anyone will mind if I play with them a bit. :)

Many thanks to those of you who have rediscovered this story and have encouraged me to continue.

October 26, 2005: Finally going to try to post it now… 

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Three**

**By lilmouse**

_**"People gotta talk themselves into law and order before they do anything about it. Maybe because down deep they don't care. They just don't care."**_

_- Martin Howe (Lon Chaney Jr.), 'High Noon', 1952_

"Good morning, Mr. Dinozzo. And how was our cereal today?"

He knows she means well but the condescending tone grates on his skin like a physical irritant. He knows she is a constant to his day, a reminder that he's made it through another night and he's grateful to her, in an odd sort of way. He also knows he won't win an award for Best Patient any time soon, so he smiles and hands her the tray. At least the IV unit is no longer required. He doesn't feel like someone dependent on the hospital for life support, unlike the unfortunate victims in the 1978 movie adaptation of Michael Crichton's book, 'Coma'. Being kept alive so his body can serve as a silent, unwilling organ donor. Trapped.

_His life hanging by a wire…_

"It was great, Della."

He really hates hospitals.

Della beams. She genuinely takes pride in the food prepared by the hospital kitchen, though he isn't certain why. No culinary prizes pending there. He eats it because he needs to refuel and rebuild and he isn't getting out of here until the doctor sees a marked improvement. He doesn't eat everything, though.

By the end of his second week, he decides that he'll never know exactly what the yellow item in the sealed, plastic cup is, and it returns to the kitchen every time, untouched.

"You have a good appetite," Della observes and takes the tray, blushing slightly under the impact of 'Dinozzo Smile #42'. They aren't flirting and they both know it. There was a guy Tony knew in high school who had an aunt that made crocheted tea cosies and always tried to feed him when he came to visit. Della the Kitchen Queen reminds him of that woman. They banter and it does no harm.

His breakfast is followed by a shower, which he is blissfully allowed to do by himself now. Physical traces of his injuries remain but eventually the deepest of them will be nothing more than a faint, pale scar if you know where to look. The hospital gown was dispensed with as soon as possible and he wears track pants and a t-shirt. A fleece NCIS jacket with a hood keeps the chill in the hall from seeping into his soul. Why is it hospitals are kept so cold?

Physiotherapy is next, two floors down, third door on the right. He has stretches and weights, all carefully monitored by two different female therapists who tag team his recovery. One of them is an attractive blonde named Tammy. She doesn't step over the sexual boundaries of her professional relationship with Tony but definitely flirts with him. Lightly, like a breeze, just casual fun.

Special Agent Tony Dinozzo isn't interested in playing the game right now, even if there is no serious intent. He hurts, inside and out, and his focus is on feeling the sharp edges of discharge papers in his fist as he leaves the hospital.

_And that day had better be soon…_

It isn't Tammy today but Carla, a young brunette with a fresh face and large brown eyes. She smiles and reviews his last session. He groans inwardly and tries not to look at her, hoping she doesn't think he's being rude. At least she doesn't flirt with him.

Although her hair is shorter, she could pass for Caitlin Todd at a distance.

He chews on his bottom lip and responds in the right places then gets on the mat and does his stretches and leg lifts. All strengthening for his thighs, his back, his -

**"Did you know one of the bullets went into your butt?"**

**"I did not know that."**

_**God, how I miss you…**_

"How do you feel today, Dinozzo?"

He finishes his last pelvic tilt and lifts his head. From this position he sees Gibbs sitting on a chair just inside the doorway.

"Been there long, boss?"

"Long enough to know you're moving better than you were."

Tony smiles tightly. "Could you please tell the doctor that? Then I can return to being a productive member of society."

An eyebrow rises. "Bored, Dinozzo?"

"I just want to get back at it."

"When they say you're ready."

"I'm ready _now_." Tony focuses on rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up by his arms, arching his back from a position akin to yoga's "Low Cobra' to 'Upward-facing Dog'. The stretch for his lower back is amazing and he does his best to relax into it.

He misses the look Gibbs silently sends to Carla. She shakes her head slightly and mouths one word: "Soon."

"Feel like a visitor?"

Tony breathes out and lowers his upper body to the mat. "Not really." He pushes himself up again for another stretch.

Gibbs stands and turns towards the door. "You don't even know who it is."

"I don't _care_ who it is."

"You _should_ care, Dinozzo."

Tony closes his eyes and barely manages to control the tone of his voice as he lowers himself to the mat before pushing up again.

"Are you here just to torment me, boss? Probie not a big enough target?"

He wonders about the wisdom of his words even as he's speaking them. He needs this job. Employment is an important factor for the continued quality of his wardrobe, the renewal of his gym membership.

_His apartment._ He doesn't know why he's so edgy today. Maybe it was breakfast.

"So what's it going to be, Dinozzo?"

"Abby's already been by with her tin of cookies."

He thinks of the chocolate nut blobs in his room and wonders if he'll be bold enough to try one.

"Did I say it was Abby?"

Tony rolls onto his side and sits up, smiling tightly. "No, but I understand everyone else is doing double time to keep on top of the latest case."

"They are."

The two men make eye contact. Both of them think they know what the other one is thinking. One of them is right.

Gibbs nods to someone in the hallway.

A woman with a badge around her neck and a wardrobe that says Wal-Mart moves into view. Beside her, the face of a seven-year-old angel looks hesitantly into the room.

Tony wonders how much of a jerk his boss thinks he is but knows he is his own, harshest critic. He finds a smile for little Katie Garvey. It isn't his biggest smile or his best but he's trying.

"Hey there," he says and her eyes sparkle. She looks up at the woman, then at Carla, then Gibbs before taking a few steps into the room.

"Hey."

She stands there, uncertain what to do next. She's wearing a Dora the Explorer t-shirt and blue jeans today instead of a Barbie dress, and her jeans have pink flowers embroidered on them. Tony notes that her sneakers light up whenever she takes a step.

Tony pats the mat beside him. "You can sit here, if you like," he says, reminding himself that his Dinozzo charm doesn't usually work unless they're over the age of eighteen.

Katie grins. She seems to be the exception to a rule about kids Tony doesn't even remember creating. It's just… always been the rule. He and kids don't seem to gel. He studies the little girl and wonders if she looks like her mother, but the clearest images he has of Lieutenant Helen Garvey are from the murder scene. He took the pictures himself. To say that they don't do the woman justice would be an understatement. The killers were cruel and vengeful and Helen did not go quietly into the night.

He dismisses the image of her disfigured face and focuses on her daughter.

She shuffles across the linoleum to sit cross-legged on the blue mat and they smile at one another. They fit neatly, side by side.

"We could be on an island," she declares.

"Yes, we could." Tony looks at the other adults then returns his gaze to her. "I guess they'd be in the water, then."

"Yep."

"So," Tony begins, wanting to reassure himself that she's alright. "How're you doing?"

She shrugs and an expression slides over her face so quickly he nearly misses it. "Oh, you know. I'm okay, I guess." She plays with a lose thread on one of the embroidered flowers. "I have a new bike."

He swallows and tries not to scare her by staring too hard. He recognizes what she's doing because he was like that at her age, dodging even the lightest of questions, keeping a cool exterior, hiding the pain.

_Changing the topic…_

They don't share a similar background but they do have the same evasive habits.

Idly he wonders if that's why they seem to have connected.

"Biking is good," he says, uncertain how to continue. The tension in the air is building and it's coming from Gibbs and the woman, though you wouldn't know it to look at his boss. The Wal-Mart Woman is another matter entirely; her expression is fixed and strained, as if she's expecting someone to shout at her. Tony leans slightly to his left, on the pretence of whispering something to Katie and looks passed the woman. "I have a bike, too, but I don't ride it much," he tells the little girl and decides the two suits waiting outside are agents trying, unsuccessfully to his eye, to look like civilians. He can tell they're armed, too.

"Are you okay?"

Katie's question draws him back to where they sit on the mat; just chatting like there isn't anything important to do and guns aren't a part of their lives at all.

"I'm better now."

She nods, her expression wiser than her years. _I don't believe you_, it says. "Good." Then she leans over and tries to hug his left side. He hesitates then shifts, ignoring the others in the room, and gives her a proper hug in return. They stay like that for almost a minute. Tony can see the large clock on the wall across from him and watches the second hand tick one full cycle before she pulls back.

"I was scared," she whispers.

Tony finds his hand smoothing her hair and wonders where this comforting move comes from. Instinct, he supposes. "So was I," he replies softly.

Katie glances at the woman then says, "I have to go now."

They stand together and her hand slips into Tony's as they walk over to the nervous woman. He stops in front of her and looks down, as someone with his height often does, and tries to find the threads of the situation in her face.

She smiles and blushes a bit, looking from him to Gibbs and back again. _Fear and curiosity: Interesting mix._ "I'm Marcie- "

"Marcie Mitchell, her social worker," Tony concludes, overlapping her introduction. She looks puzzled so he decides to help her out. "You're wearing a badge," he states, reaching for the plastic resting against her chest and tracing a finger over her name and status. She blushes harder. He sighs. He isn't even trying and the hospital, under armed guard, isn't exactly a cocktail party but Marcie is reacting to him, nonetheless.

"You're the agent who saved Katie?"

"Dinozzo took the bullets for her," Gibbs says, surprising Tony by saying anything at all. _Maybe he's trying to get a point across here…_

He takes the woman's hand and places Katie's much smaller one into it.

"Take care of her." _Or else_ is unsaid but clearly understood. The look of fear increases but it isn't really fear of him. _It's fear of what hasn't happened yet._

He looks over at Gibbs. Unreadable. He looks at Katie Garvey. "Watch you don't fall off that bike," he says, trying to sound casual and encouraging.

"I won't fall," she assures him and waves as the woman directs her back into the hall. The two agents close in behind them.

"What the hell is going on, Gibbs?"

Carla makes a show of looking at her wristwatch and says, "I'm just going to run for coffee. Be right back." With a quick smile, she's out the door.

"We haven't got him yet."

"Got _who_ yet? McGee said you'd caught two of the guys at the farm- "

"And killed the third- "

"Like he gave you a choice- "

"When was McGee here?"

Tony shakes his head, not wanting to get distracted from the topic. "He wasn't here, he called, okay?"

Gibbs moves closer to Tony and says quietly, "They were hired help, Dinozzo. They didn't plan the attack and they held her down while someone else did the torturing."

Tony frowns as the information clicks into place. "None of them were her brother."

"The bullet to your skull doesn't seem to have done your thinking much damage. We're building the case but Katie witnessed her _uncle_ doing the actual killing, heard and remembered _some _of what he was yelling at Lieutenant Garvey while she hid in a closet and watched through a louvered door." His volume increases during that sentence. Tony knows Gibbs isn't angry with him but with the situation and the nightmare a little girl has had to endure.

"Any leads on the brother?"

Gibbs sighs and paces towards the wall with the clock and back again as he speaks. "If there are any witnesses to his arrival or departure from the house or anyone who can smash the alibis he was giving us three weeks ago before it all went to hell, they aren't finding their civic duty a very strong pull."

"And if anyone knows where he is- "

"They're keeping it to themselves."

That always made Tony angry. When he'd been a cop in Homicide, the gawkers at a scene annoyed him and any who might have been witnesses to the crime often didn't want to get involved. They didn't care, it was someone else's problem, anything they said wouldn't revive the dead so what was the point?

His hands balled into fists and he wished he had something to punch.

Preferably the smug face of Robert Joseph Garvey.


	4. Chapter 4

April 23, 2006: Oddly enough, I hadn't realized how long it has been since I posted Chapter Three. I suppose this is what happens when previous writing commitments take priority and a story like this - **which was only going to be one chapter** - blindsides you. I hope anyone who was following remembers it, lol:)

As with previous chapters, this has not been Betaed for continuity within 'NCIS' lore or for anything else for that matter, therefore all errors are my own darn fault.

The first chapter of this story was written before the character of Ziva David joined the cast. It takes place, therefore, before her return to the series.

I do not own these characters but I hope no one will mind if I play with them a bit. And I'll mention here that though the story is obviously Tony focussed, I enjoy the rest of the team as well and hope to do them justice. :)

Many thanks to those of you who have reviewed and encouraged me to continue. :)

**April 30, 2006: Uh, since I _haven't_ added to this story in a while, you might want to give the previous chapters a once-over. :Looks embarrassed:**

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Four**

**By lilmouse**

**_"You're a good-looking boy: you've big, broad shoulders. But he's a man. And it takes more than big, broad shoulders to make a man."_**

_- Katy Jurado (Helen Ramirez), 'High Noon', 1952_

It is late afternoon and the sun is pathetic when compared with its strength three weeks ago. October seemed impossibly warm during the day and a deep, chilled 'other world' during the night. November is cold no matter what time it is and there is even talk of a severe frost by the weekend. Breathing results in puffs of mist in the air at six in the morning as you dart to your car, and across the state sweaters have been pulled from the bottom drawer. The season has arrived for the pool cover and the wrapping of burlap around delicate hedges, according to the weather guy, who looks a bit nervous about the approaching winter.

_Probably hasn't done his Christmas shopping yet,_ Tony Dinozzo thinks idly, his eyes moving from the television monitor where the news drones on to the vital battle happening on E-Bay. It's down to him and one other person, a bidding war for a Detroit Tigers baseball cap worn by Tom Selleck. He's on break and this will only take a minute and he already has the information Gibbs requested on the missing petty officer.

He's been on the job again for three days now and is thriving on the challenge of staying ahead of the pack and concealing the number of painkillers he takes before lunch. Almost a month since he was shot protecting a little girl who witnessed the murder of her mother, Lieutenant Helen Garvey. Since Helen didn't have a very good relationship with her family, Tony wonders why she kept her maiden name. They don't know who the father is, and neither does the little girl. More questions, more pain.

**_The bullets thudding into the back of his bulletproof vest knock him down just before he reaches the doors. Katie is under him, screaming._**

Tony can still see the face of Katie Garvey's uncle as he last recalls it, just before everything went bad. He'd watched the man, who had a lawyer at his side, through the interrogation room glass as Gibbs questioned him. The suit Mr. Garvey had worn reflected his career as a Chartered Accountant for a very high-end financial group: Gucci, tropical weight woollen, three-button front, very dapper. Tony knew fashion and had recognized it in an instant. The silk tie, Tag Heuer wristwatch and shirt of Egyptian cotton completed the expensive but professional look. His face held the right level of sorrow for his dead sister and appropriate concern for his niece but something was wrong. It wasn't something they could point to or create a flow chart from, but it was there, in the shadows, lurking.

His alibi was watertight, though, with no evidence to the contrary. Spent the night with his girlfriend. She was upset at being questioned but firm in her story and her landlord had been able to verify her claim. _Damn._

So the bastard had walked. Gibbs hates it when they walk, knows his gut is screaming for justice, and rides his team hard when that happens. This time had been no different.

Only the casualties had been high.

In the race to protect the only witness, three agents died and then Tony was shielding her body and going down for the count. One. Two. Three.

_Three weeks._ The case is stale and there are no leads beyond Garvey, and he appears to be clean. They know he isn't, of course. A seven-year-old girl with more guts than he'll ever have saw him kill her mother. If it was safe to bring her out of hiding, they'd do it in a snap. After the last time they tried it, the chances of a replay are slim unless they can poke holes in that alibi.

Tony knows Gibbs hasn't given up. He knows that _Gibbs_ knows that Tony hasn't given up, either. Robert Joseph Garvey is keeping a low profile but if he's smart, he'll wait until the case is almost forgotten before trying to skip the country.

_He wants the money. He won't leave until his niece is dead and he can claim the money he feels is his by right. The problem is, does anybody besides us give a damn?_

The sun filters through the office windows and casts pale shadows across the furniture. It is the light equivalent of weak tea that has been left to grow cold on the counter. He doesn't drink tea so he isn't sure why that should occur to him.

He hears a huff beside him. "Tony, that isn't work."

Tony's smile is fixed when he graces Special-Agent-in-Training Timothy McGee with a look: 'Dinozzo Smile # 12'. It isn't very sincere but that's all part of their interaction. McGee stands there in a brown suit, striped tie straight, hands clasping paperwork. He's a tall man and someday, Tony knows he'll fill that suit much better than he currently does. He isn't as green as he was at the beginning of his tenure but the roots are still looking for good soil.

It must be Metaphor Day or something.

"Thanks for the insight, Probie. I'd be lost without you."

McGee will probably always be "Probie" to Tony, though he uses that name more out of habit than anything else. And to needle him, of course. It's like having a younger brother around. Tony is an only child and feels he's making up for the missed opportunity. He wants to encourage McGee to fend for himself and ensure he doesn't step on any toes while he finds his footing at NCIS.

_And keep him away from any of their more appealing co-workers._

McGee rolls his eyes and returns to his desk. Their usual banter had resumed before the end of Tony's first day back. Tony knows what his co-workers expect of him and he tries not to disappoint. McGee is more than a co-worker. He's a friend, even if he doesn't realize it. Tony sighs. Sometimes keeping track of the face he's supposed to be wearing is the tricky part.

_Only twenty seconds to go…_

"I'm on break, Probie." He watches the clock on the screen as the countdown continues but points to the clock on the wall with a sweeping gesture. "And I have three minutes left."

"Break was an hour ago," McGee reminds him.

"I didn't take one, if you recall." He can tell by McGee's expression that he's thinking back and methodically placing where everyone was an hour previous. The slight frown on his face tells Tony that the other agent has just realized that he's telling the truth.

_Three. Two. One. Zero._

He stares at the results with a genuine sense of wonder. _I did it._

_Oh, my God, Magnum!_

_Victory!_ He'll celebrate properly later. Tony indulges in the restrained Clenched Fist of Elation and mouths a silent 'Yes!' He has just acquired a piece of his childhood, a fragment of the hero who had inspired him to become a cop. The rest of the day can go into the toilet if it wants.

"Why didn't you take your break then?"

"What are you, the hall monitor? I was busy."

"With what, Dinozzo?"

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs strides around the dividers like a battleship on a pursuit course during a military exercise. Coffee is the fuel for this vessel and nailing the criminal is the goal. The look in his eyes telegraphs to the bullpen that there better be a target in sight.

Tony closes the E-Bay window and stands, file folder in hand, a striking figure despite a slight stiffness in his movements. He's wearing a turtleneck and dress pants today, both charcoal grey. The outfit covers bandages and lingering bruises that he doesn't want to talk about right now. Not with his team. Maybe the attractive blonde he met while on a coffee run yesterday will call. She would be more than welcome to help him minister his wounds. Or maybe the young intern who blushed prettily near the end of his hospital stay. He could work with a personal examination from her just fine, thank you.

Tony straightens his shoulders. Grey flatters him, he knows, and the turtleneck accentuates the fitness of his upper body. He hopes the wardrobe and sympathy regarding his recent activities will find him in good company before the weekend frost hits. Preferably blonde but he isn't being picky right now.

Otherwise, his nights are going to be very cold.

Gibbs sits behind his desk and sips from his cup of coffee, regarding the other two agents expectantly.

"Got the information you wanted on Petty Officer First Class Federico Rossi, Boss. He has a gambling habit that is more than just a hobby." He glances at the desk across from his as he moves, knowing she should be there, matching his information point for point in that friendly competitive way they had polished. The empty chair is eerily turned to face Gibbs' desk, just as it would be if she were still alive.

_Sweet Kate, Bonnie Kate…_

"His car was repossessed two days ago," McGee adds, trying to rise to the challenge. He exchanges a quick look with Tony. Both of them know there is an important element missing to this presentation of dry facts. Tony sighs inwardly. The game just isn't the same with Probie.

"And his landlord would like to have a few choice words with him about the rent," he adds, playing for the exercise only, like a Ferrari 308 revving at the starting line. Tony doesn't know when the race will start but he wants to be ready.

"I checked his bank balance. It's in the negative, Boss."

"But the bank _manager_ says that isn't unusual."

McGee looks startled. "You spoke to the manager?"

Tony smiles almost tenderly at the memory. "She was very helpful."

McGee snorts.

"Something you want to share with the class?" Gibbs asks, his expression neutral.

"Uh." McGee looks at Tony, like he's been caught passing a note. "No, just that it figures Tony'd talk to the woman - _manager_ - _think _of talking to the manager - _work _on that angle -"

Sometimes it's entertaining to watch the younger agent play Twister with his mouth but he isn't interested right now.

"Rossi has an overdraft," Tony interjects smoothly, "and uses it often but always tops up his account on a regular basis before the bank needs to worry." The fact that the bank manager reminds Tony of a favourite _teacher_ from high school and not a _date_ from high school is irrelevant.

McGee stares at Tony, who just bailed him out of eating his feet rather than take advantage of his nervousness. Tony's lips twitch and he raises an eyebrow, well aware of the situation. _If I keep him on his toes now, maybe he'll live longer -_

"So where is he?"

"We don't know, Boss. He has a sister who lives in Baltimore but she says she hasn't heard from him." He holds the file folder open in his hands but he doesn't use it as a reference. It's a prop. All the information has been memorized. It's just something he does.

If he'd cared about academics, he could have soared.

Maybe he would have bothered to pursue something _other_ than sports if the teachers in his final years - with the exception of Mrs. Travers, of course - hadn't bored him to tears.

"His superior officer said he'd asked for a few personal days and the request was granted." McGee is learning not to consult his notes. _Good._

"So, no car, time on his hands, what next?"

Questions. _Always questions._ Tony likes the way Gibbs provides the set up, like he's directing a play and giving the characters the opportunity to impress him with an idea. On cue, Tony says, "Probie and I have been to all the legitimate gambling halls in the area, shown his picture, asked around. Found three he likes to visit but they hadn't seen him in about a week. One of them claims he owes money on a 'personal loan'."

"And the gambling halls that don't advertise?"

McGee purses his lips. "That's the next step but it'd take more time, Boss."

"You doing something else right now that I don't know about?"

Tony sighs inwardly. _Here we go…._

"Uh -"

"We'll get right on it, Boss." Tony turns fluidly and moves towards his desk, tossing the folder and reaching for his leather jacket. Something shrieks along his back and he stumbles slightly, catching himself from falling by grabbing the back of his chair.

"Tony?"

"It's nothing, Boss."

"Go see Abby first. Maybe she was able to find something in the stuff you got from Rossi's apartment."

_Ah._ Either Gibbs didn't notice or doesn't want to know. "Right."

Gibbs being Gibbs, of course, chances are slim to nil that the senior agent misses anything.

Tony moves towards the elevator, his stride long despite the pain. McGee hurries to catch up with him. They enter the elevator in silence, turn to face the door and watch it close. He lets his eyes droop and gives himself a moment to breathe, assessing at what level he meets with difficulty. The other agent watches carefully.

"You okay?"

In spite of the way he's teased and tricked and tormented, McGee is a team player and sometimes can give as good as he gets - or close to it anyway. It's hard to beat a master at the game. He's asking because he genuinely cares. Tony knows this, just as he knows that McGee is expecting a glib response or a glare or anything but the truth.

"Think I'm due for more painkillers," he says instead, casually, quietly.

The younger agent nods slowly. "I have some Tylenol 2 with me."

_Boy Scouts are always prepared._

"And _I_ have straight _co_deine, pre_scribed_ by the good _doc_tor so _we_ -" Tony pauses in his rhythmic response and glances at his friend. "_We_ are _covered_, Timmy." The elevator stops and the door opens with a mundane, droning quality that Tony thinks sounds much better in the movies. They exit and walk towards the lab at a pace he sets. McGee manages not to fuss like the proverbial mother hen.

"I think I like 'Probie' better than 'Timmy'," he mutters.

Tony smirks. "I'll remind you about this conversation the next time you complain when I call you 'Probie', _Probie_." His gaze slides sideways as they pause on the threshold to Abby's domain. "You do realize that, don't you?"

McGee sighs the sigh of the Consistently Put-Upon. "I know."

_He'd rather suffer his friend poking him verbally than be informed of his death any day._

Tony laughs softly and they proceed.

Forensic Specialist Abby Sciuto is listening to 'Lover Thine' by Android Lust. Tony wouldn't be able to identify it if she didn't play it often enough and share her opinion on how they mixed the guitar. He goes clubbing when he isn't feeling like he's been hit by a truck, and he's heard a version of it there, too. Usually the clubs mix their own from current hits or only blare the less alternative music he associates with the college crowd, which is the point after all.

College girls aren't looking for commitment.

He prefers dinner and a movie - which is very 'Cary Grant' - but sometimes he's too impatient to wait and the clubs have to suffice. He and his libido have had many conversations about his relationships, or lack thereof, with no definitive conclusions to date.

Abby is bobbing her head to the beat as she types on one of several keyboards in the room, the monitor before her blurring with information. A Caff-Pow! is within easy reach: her trusty side-kick. Her jet black hair is pulled back into two ponytails, as usual, and the leather collar she's wearing today has spikes _and_ metal rings. The boots are very shiny and the thick heel must be at least six inches high. Her white lab coat conceals the black ensemble he saw her wearing earlier in the day: a t-shirt with a bright yellow happy face on it, apparently splattered with blood, and a shiny, PVC mini skirt to match her boots. She looks over her shoulder and smiles, her teeth white and even framed by blood red lips.

_Cute and scary in one neat package._

"Hello, boys," she purrs in her raspy voice, sounding particularly pleased, and returns her focus to the monitor. It looks like gibberish to Tony but he notes that McGee seems interested. "You're just in time for show-and-tell."

The men exchange a glance, as if checking to see what the other is thinking at her words. It is something they will never discuss. One of them has tested those waters and chosen to return to shore.

Tony suspects he wouldn't last even a quick swim.

This is _Abby_, his friend, co-worker, confidant (to a point) and fantasy girl. He equally loves her and is terrified of her. Some aspects of her personality he will never understand and he feels safer that way. When she flirts with him, it's just a game - and to see how uncomfortable she can make him.

He doesn't know how McGee survived intact.

Tony slides up beside her and leans carefully against the unit that holds her computer. He uses 'Dinozzo Smile # 100', which is close to # 101, the serious "I-think-you're-hot" smile he uses when he's trying to get the telephone number of a beautiful woman. He already has Abby's number.

"I didn't get the memo about 'show-and-tell'." Behind him, he can feel McGee rolling his eyes. "If I _show_," he adds in a stage whisper in her ear, "do you promise not to _tell_?"

Abby turns so their noses are almost touching and smiles at him. She enjoys the game and the "c" word is never an issue. Tony likes her dimples and is glad he can make her happy.

She bounces. "Can I take pictures?"

He shakes his head. "It would be strictly for Your Eyes Only."

McGee clears his throat. "Uh, Abby -"

"Tony's been in hospital too long without his DVD collection," she says, as if that explains everything.

Tony nods and grins. "Welcome to Washington. Nineteen television stations, endless cable and nothing on."

"Nothing on the television or nothing on _you_?"

_"Abby!"_

She pouts at McGee. "Oh, you're no fun today."

"What've you got?" Tony straightens and looks at the monitor again, scanning the characters displayed. _Nope, hasn't changed at all._ He might as well be reading an alien transmission from outer space.

"Petty Officer First Class Federico Rossi wasn't storing military secrets on his laptop," she begins, teasing out the information. "So no threat to the security of the nation here."

"Oh." McGee sounds disappointed.

Tony smiles. "It can't always be cracking the code of the enemy, Mc_Geek_."

"You know, I think I prefer 'Probie' to that one, too -"

"The best I can figure," Abby interrupts, "is that this -" She gestures to the monitor with both hands, the way Vanna White would present a letter on the Jeopardy display board. "- _this_ is the homemade program of a talented amateur. It has all the latest details, updating the stats from stuff it gets off various sites on the Internet."

"Latest details of what?" His back is throbbing. _Maybe McGee is carrying those painkillers in his pocket…_

She bats her lashes and grins. "The races, of course."

"Rossi gambles at the track?"

"Well, _off _the track, I guess, since he can place bets based on this information without going near a horse. Here's one of the sites." She clicks on her task bar and opens a link, reading aloud as it fills the screen. "'Charles Town Races and Slots. Open 7 am to 4 am, seven days a week.'"

McGee frowns slightly. "That isn't the only track he's following, is it?"

"Nope."

McGee shrugs. "Can't arrest someone if the gambling is legal."

"Charles Town, West Virginia," Tony says, wondering where he's heard that before and why it should matter.

"'Just ten minutes from Harpers Ferry.'" She sounds like the promotion department but then, she's reading from the screen.

"Can't arrest a guy for putting his money down at a legal establishment."

Abby sighs. Now he knows he's missed something. "Tony, are you in there? McGee just said that. This isn't the only track he's keeping 'track' of, either, _and_ not the only sport he's gambling his money on. Not all of them are legal. I'd bet Bert on it." Tony can't help it. He glances over at the stuffed hippo that sits on a shelf to his right. He wonders at the irony that Abby would gamble with her hippo, considering the content of Rossi's laptop.

She must have the CDs on random sort or she's playing one of her own MP3 compilations. 'Butterfly' by Tapping the Vein comes on next. At least it's a bit quieter.

"Well -"

Three cell phones ring simultaneously.

Tony figures the chances of this happening are astronomical.

Abby doesn't respond to hers. It isn't set to ring or play music. The snarl of a tiger continues to summon her from somewhere on her desk until it goes to voice mail.

The men answer their phones, each saying their own last names in response, absorbed in what the person on the other end is saying. They make appropriate noises at the right points and sign off. Abby watches them, poised to react. She senses that something very important is about to happen.

"That was the owner of 'A Sure Thing," McGee says. It's the name of one of the establishments where they asked about the petty officer and left their business card. "A courier just dropped off a cheque signed by Rossi to cover any outstanding debts."

"That was Gibbs," Tony states, wondering absently if the universe is trying to kill him. "A body has been found in the Potomac."

When he silently holds out his hand, McGee gives him the bottle of painkillers without comment.

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

May 8, 2006: The case involving little Katie Garvey continues.

It was a while before I posted Chapter Three and then Chapters Four and Five are so close together. Go figure.

As with previous chapters, this has not been Betaed for continuity within 'NCIS' lore or for anything else for that matter, therefore all errors are my own darn fault. The Internet is a very helpful tool for a writer who can't go on location, but I have never been to Washington, D.C., so my apologies if any landmarks don't seem right.

The first chapter of this story was written before the character of Ziva David joined the team. It takes place, therefore, after 'Kill Ari' and before her return to the series.

I do not own these characters but I hope no one will mind if I play with them a bit. :)

Many thanks to those of you who have reviewed and encouraged me to continue. :)

**May 13, 2006: Finally getting this chapter posted. At least it didn't take as long this time… :Looks embarrassed:**

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Five**

**By lilmouse**

_**"The commandments say 'Thou shalt not kill,' but we hire men to go out and do it for us. The right and the wrong seem pretty clear here. But if you're asking me to tell my people to go out and kill and maybe get themselves killed, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."**_

_- Dr. Mahin, Minister (Morgan Farley), 'High Noon', 1952_

The sun is setting with a spectacular presentation of light and colour. The clouds are palettes of pink and gold and a deep purple is building in the east as night begins its lazy creep across Washington, D.C. There are a few vessels moored on the Potomac River along the break wall, die-hard boaters who'll only stop being seasonal sailors when the weather forces them into dry dock. Metal and chrome glint in the fading light as dusk approaches. The water ripples like silk and glitters in the wake of a few passing boats. The wind creates peaks but no whitecaps today. Rigging clinks together like an erratic percussion section and birds swirl around the famous cherry trees in waves of beating wings. They are looking for bread or French fries from those who walk, bike, jog and roller blade their way through East Potomac Park.

The park occupies the largest island in the Potomac River, situated between Washington and Arlington in the southwest part of Washington, D.C. When viewed from above, it resembles the shape of a jalapeno. It is a major tourist attraction, especially when those famous cherry trees are in bloom.

Not a bad gig for a place that started life as a landfill.

Ohio Drive runs along the entire edge of the island and its only purpose is to get you to the picnic grounds or a game of golf or maybe some fishing. This is where you bring the family for a drive to escape the computer or the neighbours or to view something other than your own living room. The southern tip is called Hains Point, and when you stand there and turn your back to the lights of downtown, you can watch the planes manoeuvre around Reagan National Airport. There is an excellent view of the National War College, and the vast Potomac River stretches out before you on its way to the sea.

And then there are the trees. Most of the cherry trees are from Japan, courtesy of Mrs. William Howard Taft, who started her beautification with the first imports in 1912. Who knew there were so many different varieties? Yoshino, Kwanzan, Takesimensis, Weeping Japanese and so on. _One thousand, six hundred and eighty-one cherry trees._

They are sleeping now as winter tugs at their naked branches, living sculptures of wood, stark and beautiful against the clear sky. They are a more powerful image of determination and hardiness than the Washington Monument, though that structure looms behind them on the skyline and its importance should not be discounted. The trees will still be here, though, the legacy of a First Lady with vision, when the Monument has toppled due to the erosion of humanity's power on this planet.

Tony Dinozzo has done the tour during the height of blossom time. Everyone new to Washington does the tour. It's like an initiation, a place of peace and meditation, where the new resident doesn't have to think about the city and yet is reminded of it at the same time due to the contrast with the structures across the river. Tony even plays at the miniature golf course, but more important, he runs at the park, too. Leaves his car at the top of the 'jalapeno' and goes to the Point and back again, even in the rain. Especially on the days when he can't prevent a case from haunting him. He _has_ to run because the ghosts of some of the victims chase him and he can't relax. Even cases from his time in Homicide still claw at him periodically. _Peoria, Philadelphia and Baltimore._ They're all there, waiting.

_Patient._

The last time he ran, he swears he heard the footfalls of Caitlin Todd just behind him, pacing him. He knows that sound, knows she's watching his back. He'd felt sadness and comfort, joy and terror as they ran together. He hadn't looked to see if her ghost was visible and if it happens again, he won't look, ever. He doesn't want to suffer as Orpheus did at the mouth of Hades. If he turns around, his former partner might fade completely, just like Eurydice, and disappear forever.

He'll take the traces of her that remain and not push his luck.

The Hains Point loop is three-point-two miles: an easy run. If he has time, he does it twice before returning to the world of guns. He doesn't know that a woman who goes there regularly with her Tai Chi class watches him run with a mother's fondness, and thinks of her son who lives so far away. He doesn't know there are a few other females who watch him with no motherly intent at all, admiring him from afar, wondering if they can get _his_ phone number. He'd be surprised if he knew about them. Usually he doesn't miss that kind of attention, but that isn't why he comes to the park.

His focus is on moving, rhythm and speed.

He pushes himself until his chest bursts for air, needs this time running with the ghosts. He is well aware of the cost to his soul if he stays at his desk or watches the moon travel across the floor of his bedroom while sleep eludes him once more.

Every day, people die in numbers too great for any government agency to chart with any accuracy. Death by firearm has been on the rise for years and shows no indication of decline. In 2003, there were 30,136 gun deaths in the United States alone. The breakdown from there is: 56 per cent suicide, 46 per cent homicide, with the remaining 4 per cent being unintentional shootings, legal intervention and Tony's favourite category: 'undetermined intent'. Data is still being compiled for the years since then. Such statistics are overwhelming. Tony sometimes hates his gun, but he knows if he doesn't carry one and assume some of the responsibility to protect his colleagues and those in his care, the chances of more funerals will increase. He knows he's only one man and the difference he makes is infinitesimal, but this is how he chooses to make his stand.

_Blood is collecting in her hair, as she lies dead on the rooftop, a neat, perfect bullet hole in the middle of her forehead._

Ari's death might qualify as 'legal intervention' but Tony likes the term 'hand of justice' better.

The world isn't like the old Hollywood westerns, where the bad guys are easily identifiable by their black hats. It isn't that simple. There are those who are quick to judge and point blame when things go wrong and they are part of the same people who help pay for his services with their tax dollars.

_Pay for his gun. _

Someone else can get their hands dirty and take the fall.

_When he goes down, it will be fighting._

The cherry trees don't judge him or ask stupid, probing questions. He doesn't have to sort through his masks and choose the one people expect to see. Most don't come to the park to interfere with the relaxation of others. They're too busy cherishing their own time with the trees to bother. The people who come here _want_ to be here. Today, they share laughter with friends and hold deep conversations about politics and movies and burn calories jogging along the many paths. Soon it will be dinner and they'll drift home but for now, the space is alive and content. November in East Potomac Park may not be as colourful as it is during other months but it is calming, idyllic, and restful.

A pity it is flashing by at eighty miles per hour.

It's difficult to appreciate Nature's beauty at that speed.

Tony's hand snakes out once more to grab the handle of the passenger door as the truck takes another tight curve along Ohio Drive, tires squealing in protest. He'd leave his hand there as a brace throughout the entire trip if he could but it annoys the driver so he uses the handle only when it is absolutely necessary. His knuckles are white and his jaw has been clenched since he entered the truck. He can hear McGee's laboured breathing behind him and wonders if the other agent has his eyes open or closed. The landscape rushes by at an alarming rate. A few pedestrians glance towards their vehicle and scurry further back from the road. The truck is heading for Hains Point at a breakneck pace and Tony wishes that once in a while he'd lose the coin toss for the uncertain privilege of riding shotgun with Gibbs.

If he told his life insurance agent about these hair-raising journeys, he doubts he'd still be covered. Bad enough his line of work includes people shooting at him, thugs ruining his suits and whacked-out presidents of major pharmaceutical companies mailing random Y-Pestis infections. His life is in danger whenever he travels to a crime scene and _isn't_ the designated driver.

Somewhere far behind them is another truck with the bespeckled Dynamic Duo of Dr. Donald Mallard and Jimmy Palmer, his able-bodied assistant. Jimmy is driving and never had a hope in hell of keeping up with Gibbs. With any luck, they made the turn off and he won't get lost this time.

When the vehicle finally stops, Gibbs is out before the engine has finished shutting down. Tony takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. He eases his grip on the handle and flexes his fingers and says a few silent prayers to any deity who might be listening. McGee's breathing sounds like it is returning to normal, though if his heart rate is anything like Tony's, its probably still racing like a lab rat on crack.

_Or an Abby on Caff-Pow!._

Tony may never know how she can drink that stuff and live.

"That was a trip," he states evenly.

"Yeah."

"Today!" Gibbs bellows, his figure receding as he approaches the water. He doesn't look back. Tony and McGee scramble to exit and heave their equipment bags, hurrying towards the yellow caution tape.

There is a small audience to witness their arrival. Tony notes a few joggers, a man walking his dog, a pair of teens, boy and girl, and a woman with two children. They stand and stare. The teens are hugging one another's shoulders in a comforting gesture and the mother grips her children's hands fiercely, looking very distraught.

There is a blanket on the grass with the distinctive shape of a body underneath. There's no mistaking it as anything else. The local cops have strung the tape around it and the area leading to the water's edge. Two of the uniforms are interviewing the audience while others are guarding the area from any further disruption of the scene. They don't look at the blanket. As the afternoon slips away, it is cold and hushed and Tony expects to see the spectre of Death walking along the shore to collect the waiting soul.

He holds his camera steady around his neck and takes a few quiet pictures of the crowd.

"Dinozzo, are you waiting for an invitation?"

"No, Boss," he says clearly, and ducks smoothly under the tape.

"McGee."

"On it, Boss." Gibbs doesn't have to tell the younger agent what to do. _A good sign_, Tony thinks, zooming in on a partial footprint in the dirt. _Click._ Every blade of grass will be checked for potential evidence, and a small, numbered flag will be placed beside it. Tony will take a photo and then it will be bagged, tagged and removed for analysis. The flag will remain for future reference. He stares at the imprint and identifies it as the treads from a serious running shoe. The pattern of the sole is intricate and designed for lots of traction in snow or mud. He has several pairs just like it. _Click-click._ Maybe Nike or another good sport shoe. Size eleven, at a guess.

They're going to lose the light soon and will need to requisition floods. He suspects McGee is doing just that as he talks rapidly into his cell phone, eyes scanning the ground for clues. Multi-tasking is a necessity in this line of work. The night will be long, cold and empty of anything but walking carefully through the scene, one painstaking inch at a time. Tony will poke at McGee with minor insults, just to watch his face scrunch up in frustration and prod him with movie trivia, just to pass the time and keep both of them conscious.

He sighs and glances to his left. The park also includes another watcher: one of Washington's most famous non-memorial statues, 'The Awakening'. It is a five-piece sculpture of a man rising from the ground, stretching as if he's waking from a deep slumber. Tourists love to pose on the left hand or the head. The face has always reminded Tony of a depiction of the Green Man, a nature spirit from the ancient Pagan lore of Great Britain. There had been a display featuring a collection of related materials at the National Gallery of Art last year. Tony had thought the imagery very wild and evocative. The exhibit had attracted an elegant crowd and he'd connected with a striking blonde while they studied a series of particularly suggestive illustrations. She'd laughed at his jokes and flirted right back. It had lead to coffee afterwards and a sleepless night at her place.

She'd never returned any of his calls and he stopped trying to reconnect after a month. To be fair, she had obviously taken what she wanted and had thought he'd been looking for the same thing: company, some laughs, great sex. He can't remember her name, not that it really matters. Maybe it _had_ been all he was looking for that night but now he's grown tired of the predictable conclusion of such evenings.

The sculpture he calls 'Green Man' stares at the sky, perhaps the only witness to the crime. If he has any answers, he remains as silent as the earth that embraces him.

The other truck arrives and Dr. Mallard and Jimmy struggle out with apologies and tales of traffic and confusing directions - and something about Scotland that involves finding your way through the heavily misted moors without ending up in a bog. The high-profile medical examiner known as 'Ducky' proceeds calmly towards the blanket and kneels before the body, reverently, respectively.

Tony takes a quick series of photographs, capturing the moment that speaks volumes for the character of one of the men he admires.

He creeps around the scene and takes more photographs, following McGee as the other agent flags items of potential interest. It is as if they're on a scavenger hunt and Tony is trying to catch up. Gibbs finishes talking with the cops and tells his team that the scene has been compromised by well-meaning people who had rushed to aid someone they thought had only just fallen into the water. They had been too late, of course, but a part of Tony feels better knowing that they hadn't just stood by and waited for something to happen.

"The mother spotted the body," Gibbs says in a low voice as the five men huddle together for an update, crouched or kneeling around the blanket. The sun is all but a sliver of light and the floods are on their way as they speak. "One of the joggers dialled 9-1-1. Her husband and the teenage boy pulled the body out and tried to resuscitate." They all look down at the blanketed form that lies between them.

There is a pause as each man contemplates some elusive aspect of their day, trying to pinpoint why Fate has led them to this moment.

"Well," Ducky says, clearing his throat and startling McGee. Tony manages a small smile. "I'm sure no harm was done," he continues. "The evidence will be clear enough as to how he died." _Ever the optimist._ He moves his gloved hand to the edge of the blanket and slowly draws it back.

The uniform of a petty officer is revealed to them, which explains why _they_ were called but -

There is a stunned silence as recognition dawns for three of the men. McGee's eyes widen. Tony can feel an angry heat start to boil inside him. Gibbs, ever subtle and succinct, quietly sums it up in one word: "Shit."

Ducky and Palmer, of course, don't understand their reaction.

Working on automatic and trying to hold the camera steady, Tony starts taking pictures of the body that was once a man named Robert Joseph Garvey.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_


	6. Chapter 6

**June 11, 2006:** I'm working on several stories at once so my apologies for the delay in providing this chapter.

This has not been Betaed for continuity within NCIS or for anything else, so any errors are my own darn fault. This story was started before Ziva David joined the team.

I do not own these characters but hope that no one minds if I play with them for a bit. :)

Many thanks to those who read and those who review. I greatly appreciate your feedback. :D

**June 14, 2006:** Finally getting this posted. :) Except the Documents page won't load… grrrrrr…

After approximately ten attempts to get it to work, I'll try again tomorrow.

**June 15, 2006:** Once more, with feeling... ;)

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Six**

**By lilmouse**

"**_Don't shove me Harv. I'm tired of being shoved."_**

_- Marshal Will Kane (Gary Cooper), 'High Noon', 1952_

The body lies on a cold metal table in Autopsy, a part of the conversation but merely from the perspective of evidence. It cannot provide much insight beyond the obvious traces of information discernable from the flesh and bones and all those delicate organs that are now without purpose. The body won't be asking for coffee or permission to use the washroom or demand a lawyer.

Death has taken the soul and is weighing its merit while the body remains as testament to the fragility of the human race.

It is three in the morning and the scene at East Potomac Park has been thoroughly scoured. Everyone is tired and hungry and wishes nothing more than a comfortable bed and a clear vision of light at the end of the tunnel; the satisfaction that comes at the successful conclusion of a frustrating case.

They are so close and yet still hobbled by obstacles, but they can all sense that reward.

_So close…_

"Tell me a story."

Even at three in the morning, Tony Dinozzo recognizes the words Gibbs has just spoken. They echo a seven-year-old girl who had asked for a story moments before the shooters targeted him and he landed in hospital for three weeks. He wonders if Gibbs realizes what he has just said.

"**_Tell me a story."_**

"**_A story?"_**

_**The small head nods, eyes never leaving his face.**_

"**_Uh…"_**

"**_What're you waiting for, Dinozzo?"_**

"Once upon a time," Tony begins, his voice initially mimicking a favourite television host from his childhood, "there was a man named Robert Joseph Garvey."

"Dinozzo -"

"He wasn't a very nice man. He killed his sister, Helen, while his niece, Katie, watched from a hiding place in a closet." He knows he's walking a fine line between 'clever' and 'impossible'. Gibbs hasn't had a coffee in at least an hour and he can tell the man is pushing himself, drawing on those personal Marine reserves out of habit to keep going. McGee isn't faring much better but at least he doesn't get grumpy. He does, however, stammer more when he's tired but is smart enough not to say anything when he's like this unless it's _really_ important. Ducky has almost finished the autopsy and is just fussing with the details, a cut here, a probe there.

Tony finds the analogy of someone carving the Christmas turkey vaguely disturbing but his brain is making odd connections right now. He's been surviving on Doritos and soda and still his stomach growls, hungry for more junk.

It amazes his doctor that he's so physically fit.

Of the five people who were at the scene, Palmer is currently absent. He has taken a few samples to Abby and is missing the beginning of the story.

"He kept the NCIS agents running in circles while they tried to protect the little girl - the only witness to this horrible crime - from being killed as well." Tony glances at the grim line of Gibbs' mouth, at McGee's nervous eyes, at Ducky's raised eyebrow. He returns his gaze to the body and starts to walk around the table as he speaks. "She's in protective custody now. Mr. Garvey had an alibi, a really good job and a _really_ good lawyer. NCIS didn't like him very much but there wasn't a lot they could do." He leans down and whispers in the ear of the corpse, "Agent Dinozzo was particularly pissed as his stay in hospital made him testy."

_"Dinozzo…"_

"I'm getting to the good part, Boss." Tony straightens and rolls his shoulders as he completes his walk, returning to the point in the room where he started. "There's a happy ending - sort of. Well, not for Mr. Garvey, but everyone _else_ is happy he's dead." He holds up a finger and feels like Columbo. "Except for _maybe_ his girlfriend." He acquits himself well when he delivers that line. Peter Falk would be proud.

"Are you done, Dinozzo?"

"You wanted a story, Boss, and _almost _done, to answer your question."

"I assume you have a point to all this?" Gibbs has known Tony long enough to recognize this process. Sometimes he has to talk his way through a situation in order to arrive on the other side with something useful. The patience level of his boss isn't at its peak right now but Tony figures a few more minutes are all he needs.

"Every story has an ending, Boss."

"Give us the Reader's Digest version."

"Gotcha." He's aware that he's vibrating but has no idea where his extra energy is coming from or when he's going to crash. He clears his throat and takes a sip from his Mountain Dew. It's a good thing NCIS keeps their pop and snack machines well stocked at all times. "So, how did he die?" He looks at Ducky who sighs heavily. "Dr. Mallard has just told us it was due to a blow to the back of the skull and _not_ drowning in the Potomac." Tony feels like his title should be 'Detective Inspector Something-or-Another' from Scotland Yard instead of 'Special Agent'. Ducky has the accent, the right looks - _though the scrubs won't do at all_ - and even the eccentricity frequently evident in British mysteries, but he isn't in that role at present.

Even so, the medical examiner managed to stretch his presentation of the facts to over fifteen minutes.

_Tony will be done in five._

"He didn't drown and it obviously wasn't an accident, so what happened? And _why_ was Mr. Garvey discovered wearing the uniform of a petty officer when he _isn't_ a member of any military group _and_ has lots of Gucci suits in his closet to choose from?"

Gibbs is rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Tony…" It's a sign of his exhaustion that he uses the given name instead.

The agent testing his patience gestures broadly with both arms. "So _who_ did it?"

"If you say Professor Plum with the candlestick -"

"McGee, _please_." Tony smiles and moves in front of his friend, clasping him heartily on the shoulders. McGee jumps in his skin. Even tired, Tony still has an alarming grip. "It was Miss Scarlet, and my bet would be on the lead pipe."

"Ah, 'Clue'. Mother likes to play that game but it's very frustrating. She insists on looking in the envelopes first then making up a story to match that conclusion."

"You're not helping, Duck."

"Sorry, Jethro."

"Miss Scarlet," Tony repeats. They look at him with varying degrees of wariness. He throws his head back and laughs and feels like Dr. Evil for a moment. When he faces them again, he releases McGee and his face is perfectly serious. "The _girlfriend_, his alibi. Who else has anything at stake? Maybe she knew about the inheritance and was seriously in on the game? Maybe she has access to his money and doesn't need to kill Katie Garvey when she has a rich accountant's bank account to play with?"

"So why the uniform?" Tony smiles at Ducky, happy someone has joined in the game.

"Elementary, my dear Watson!"

The four men turn as one to witness Abby striding into the room, closely followed by a startled-looking Palmer. She looks wide-awake and is vibrating faster than Tony. He wonders how many _Caff-Pows!_ she's had since he last saw her and whether or not she has one left and would be willing to share.

"Hey," Tony says in mock indignation, "_I'm_ Sherlock."

"I always figured you preferred Mike Hammer," Abby says, moving to stand next to the body, taking in all the gory details with glee. Palmer trails behind, obviously confused.

"I'll take Sam Spade over Mike Hammer. 'The Maltese Falcon', 1941, a classic."

"People!"

The room echoes at the roar of the lion. Tony waits a beat before he says, "Tell them, Abby." He has no idea what she is going to say and wants to make sure her news doesn't get lost in the surreal, colourless hours before dawn.

"I got bored waiting for the drug screen on our guest so I played with fabric." She bounces. "The uniform _isn't_ a uniform," she states firmly. "Wrong material, noUSMC approval identification serial number, poorly sewn _plastic_ buttons." She rolls her eyes. "I mean, come _on_. It's a _costume_."

They wait for her to continue. She's bursting to do so but is holding back, like a child waiting for Christmas morning before throwing herself at the presents under the tree.

Tony figures the two Christmas references have popped into his head because it _is _November and he hasn't done any holiday shopping. Not that his list is very long and he _certainly_ won't be visiting his family -

Dead body. Need Pizza. Must get through this to get pizza. _Focus, Dinozzo._

Gibbs pierces her with his steely gaze. "And?"

She grins, unaffected by the intimidation factor of her boss. "Someone is just trying to play with our heads, that's all. Oh! _And_ I played detective and called some of the costume places I know and asked if anyone had rented or purchased any uniforms lately."

Abby stops. Five men wait for her to say something. She stares back at each of them, not blinking in that freaky way that drives Tony crazy.

"Abbs -"

"And I found it, Bossman! Paid for two weeks ago using a credit card - how sloppy is that? - with _this _name on it." A piece of paper unfurls from her fingertips and she gives it to Gibbs. He squints at it but the light isn't good where he's standing and he doesn't have his glasses. Tony leans a little to the left and is able to make out the letters.

Oh. My. God.

_He was right._

"Miss Scarlet…" His voice trails off when Gibbs frowns up at him, realizing Tony can read it when he can't and not being pleased. Tony straightens and smiles, trying to look harmless.

"Stacey Burnett." Gibbs crumples the paper. "Pull up her address, let's -"

Tony raises his arms suddenly as if he's been burned. "That's it! _That's It!_ Stacey Burnett lives in Charles Town, West Virginia!" He hops a few times, as if he were dancing at a club. "Whoo-hoo! Damn, but that was bugging me."

The room falls silent. He lowers his arms and scrunches up his face. "What? I'm on good medication here, feeling no pain and full of Doritos but the _brain_ is still working, thank you very much."

"Charles Town, West Virginia?" Abby and McGee are so cute when they speak in stereo like that. They frown at one another so Tony doesn't know if it'll ever happen again. He's sorry he didn't have a video camera to capture the moment.

"Petty Officer First Class Federico Rossi bets at the race track in Charles Town, West Virginia," Tony explains. "Abby, when you found the link on his laptop, it reminded me of something but I couldn't remember what. Garvey's _girlfriend_ lives there, in an apartment building not far from the track if I recall the report correctly."

McGee had done the legwork on that part of the investigation. Interview the girlfriend, interview the landlord, knock on doors to see if any of the neighbours could confirm or deny the story. _Blah, blah, blah._ Tony had been given the job of checking out the accounting firm Garvey worked for and subsequently the appealing female who was his assistant. Too bad she has a fiancé, though that hasn't stopped Tony before -

He gives himself a mental head slap.

_Pizza. Focus. Now._

"Petty Officer Rossi paid that 'personal loan' - or shall we say 'gambling debt'? - to that guy at 'A Sure Thing', right McGee?"

McGee nods, his brow furrowing. He's a smart man but it looks like every ounce of his remaining energy is being summoned to deal with this question. Tony wonders if maybe he should sit down.

"Maybe you should sit down, Probie," he says.

McGee purses his lips. "So where did he get the money?"

"That's my point."

Now Gibbs is frowning. "Are you suggesting these two cases are connected?"

"It crossed my mind," Tony says, raising his arms again in an effort to release a knot in his back.

"Short trip," a familiar voice quips.

No one else reacts so he figures he's the only one who can hear her. Tony stops mid-stretch. A cool breeze makes the skin on the back of his neck prickle. He isn't sure if he should look over his shoulder or just ignore her. It doesn't take him long to decide he can't resist.

Caitlin Todd leans against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, looking as fresh and lovely as she did that day he first woke up in hospital after the shooting. Her hair is loose and she's wearing a red sleeveless top and black pants. She takes his breath away. The others continue to converse without him but their words are muffled.

Abby notices he has turned towards the far corner of the room and seems lost in thought.

"We don't have a lot of clues," Tony quietly tells Kate-Who-Isn't-There.

"'Clue'?" Kate shakes her head. "That game was boring after the first ten times but 'Monopoly'? Now, _that_ was exciting."

"Only if you owned all the railroads and had a hotel on Boardwalk," Tony argues.

_God, how I miss you…_

A voice penetrates his thoughts. "We need evidence, Dinozzo, not wild theories."

"He's right, you know." She steps away from the wall and Tony watches her move closer to the autopsy table, studying the body with apparent interest.

"Any of you see or… hear anything, uh… _odd_?"

"Other than you?" Abby asks, her expression innocent.

Kate laughs. "You go, girl!"

Tony rounds on her. "_You_ stay outta this!"

He feels a hand on his arm. Ducky has moved quickly to his side and looks very concerned. "Anthony, perhaps _you_ should be the one sitting down, not Timothy."

McGee drags a chair across the floor and Tony is pushed gently into it. He glances at his hands in disbelief. When did he start shaking?

_No…_

His hands become fists and there's something cool and sticky and sweet running down his right hand. He stares at Kate. If he looks away, she might disappear and he has to know.

"Is it the drugs?" he asks her.

She shrugs. "Probably, though you _are_ pretty messed up to start with, Dinozzo."

"He's on some pretty strong stuff," McGee tells no one in particular. The crushed can of Mountain Dew is pried from his right hand. Someone finds a towel and tries to wipe his skin clean.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I'm not the one hallucinating, Tony."

"I'm taking codeine," Tony manages through gritted teeth. "Why would I hallucinate with codeine?"

"I don't know," McGee says.

"He isn't talking to you," Gibbs tells him flatly, and follows Tony's eyes, seeing only empty space in the shadows created by the bright task lights directed at the body and the backlit x-ray board.

Tony takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He relaxes his hands and flexes his fingers. He is aware that Ducky still has a hold of his arm. "So talk to me."

"What?" Palmer is completely lost and decides that since he missed the beginning of this particular scene, he'll just sit on one of the other autopsy tables and wait for it to end.

Kate smiles. "I can't tell you anything you don't already know, Tony. This is just like the hospital. The drugs are affecting your perceptions and the lack of sleep isn't helping much, either. I'm not really here."

"We need to get this case done and we need to do it now. I'm tired and I've had enough."

She leans her hip against the table and regards the body with disdain. "This is the man that killed the mother of that little girl?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Any ideas, Kate? Am I totally off on this?"

"Oh my god, he's taking to _Kate_," Abby whispers reverently to McGee. "This is so cool…"

"I've got ears," he replies testily, then sighs when she glares at him.

"What tells you the two cases are connected, Dinozzo?" This from Gibbs.

"My gut."

Kate pouts prettily. "I thought I was your subconscious."

"Whatever." He snatches the towel from Abby then realizes how abrupt he's just been and apologizes. "Sorry, Abbs. Having some trouble here. Give me a minute while I psychoanalyze myself and see if I can find the pieces I'm missing."

Did that make sense? He doesn't have the energy to care.

"You like games, Dinozzo?" Kate raises an eyebrow. "Here's a clue: look at his left hand."

Tony does but all he sees is pale skin and bone. Kate-Who-Isn't-There starts humming. It takes him a few seconds to recognize the 'Wedding March', which is strange when you consider the number of weddings he's attended, mostly big Italian affairs and _twice_ for the same woman in as many years. Two of his college buddies are getting married next year and both of them have asked him to be a groomsman.

He figures it's because he looks good in a tux and knows how to party.

Something clicks. "Ring finger, left hand," Tony says. Gibbs leans down to get a closer look. There is very little difference in the skin tone but the difference is there.

"Not 'girlfriend'," Kate states.

Tony can feel a muscle twitch in his jaw as he says, "Stacey Burnett isn't his girlfriend. She's his wife."

"Wife?" _Stereo again._ Abby hits McGee and he hits her back. Ducky clears his throat as a warning.

Gibbs nods once. "Get on it. I want the minister or whoever conducted the service and I want the records."

Tony releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding and assesses his situation. He is surrounded by friends. Ducky is behind him, Abby to the right and McGee to the left. At the corner of his vision he sees Palmer sit up and take note of the conversation.

In front of him, across the body, stands Gibbs and the hallucination he is calling 'Kate'. It looks so natural, so familiar, to see her beside him, smiling, he can feel his throat close with emotion. "Oh, god, Katie," he breathes, knowing his prayer to make it real will not be answered.

Despite her faith, Caitlin Todd is beyond the assistance of the deity she worshipped.

Gibbs looks to his right but Tony knows he doesn't see her. He can tell what his boss is thinking, though, as a crack appears in the stoic façade. He's thinking of the vibrant woman and how helpless he was as she was killed right in front of him. _Killed because of him -_

"Tell Gibbs to stop blaming himself for my death," Kate says abruptly.

Tony blinks, the corners of his eyes damp. "What?"

She stares at Gibbs and her face is agonizing to behold. "Do it, Tony. He has to stop thinking that way."

"She says you're not responsible for her death, Boss, and wants you to stop blaming yourself." Gibbs looks at him sharply. Abby gasps and McGee freezes. Tony swallows, uncertain how to proceed.

Then he has a new problem. The shaking that had subsided has returned with a vengeance. He suddenly realizes he's taken too much codeine in the last twenty-four hours and not nearly enough food. His body is rebelling against the combination.

"Shit," he mumbles, bolting from the chair and lurching towards another table, away from their evidence, grabbing at a metal bowl. Oddly enough, it is McGee - the man who gets nauseous when dealing with bodily fluids - who holds him firmly by his upper arms while he wretches into several successive metal bowls supplied by Abby. McGee's support and his own hands clenching on the edge of the table are the only things preventing him from collapsing in his vomit.

After about five minutes, all Tony can hear is the harshness of his breathing.

_Wow._

He didn't know he had that much food in him.

_He doesn't, now…_

A warm, wet towel is given to him when McGee helps him straighten. He takes it in both hands, smothers his face with it and leaves it there for a minute before scrubbing his skin thoroughly. He can't look at Abby - _not yet_ - when she takes it from him and offers a glass of water, which he drains completely.

The metal bowls and their contents have been whisked away and the smell is abating.

Tony resigns himself to the inevitable and stares at the empty space beside Gibbs. He sighs, knowing she'd be gone once the drugs had been so brutally forced from his system.

"Better?" Ducky asks quietly.

"Yeah."

He won't look at Gibbs, either, doesn't want to see if there is hatred or ridicule in those eyes.

"Do you need something for your stomach, Anthony?" The doctor's words seem to restart everyone. McGee and Abby step away, quietly talking about the latest break in the case and whether or not they should be calling _anyone_ at this time of the morning. Palmer slides from his perch on one of the other tables and casts a frown at the chaos Tony's sickness has caused the orderly world of Autopsy. Ducky moves towards a drawer and opens it, rummaging through a variety of bottles.

Only Gibbs maintains a vigil beside the body.

"Some antacids, maybe?" Ducky continues. "Or perhaps you'd prefer a glass of milk? It calms the stomach nicely unless you're lactose-intolerant, of course, but as I recall you don't have a problem with -"

"Nope," Tony says clearly, and smiles. "What I need… is _pizza_."

He ignores the gagging noises McGee is making at the very concept of food right now - _let alone pizza_ - and strides for the door.

_**To be continued…**_


	7. Chapter 7

**June 22, 2006:** Nibbling at the edges of this story, trying to work out the next chapter. For some inexplicable reason, I've been misspelling Tony's last name as 'Dinozzo'. The CBS Profile clearly reads 'DiNozzo'. I have no clue what happened but I'll spell it correctly from now on. :)

The length of time a character has worked for NCIS has been extrapolated from the CBS site to catch up with the appropriate time for certain events to occur before and during this story. My apologies if I haven't calculated that correctly.

This story has not been Betaed, so all errors are my own darned fault. No infringement is intended.

**June 26, 2006: **_Hmmm…_ A slightly different angle on the story, perhaps. Not a lot of progress with the case in this chapter, but these characters are so interesting to explore. :) Here is Abby's perspective. 

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Seven**

**By lilmouse**

**_"I don't understand you. No matter what you say. If Kane was my man, I'd never leave him like this. I'd get a gun. I'd fight."_**

**_"Why don't you?"_**

**_"He is not my man. He's yours."_**

_- Helen (Katy Jurado) to Amy (Grace Kelly), 'High Noon', 1952_

Forensic Specialist Abby Sciuto sits cross-legged on Tony's desk. The office is quiet and most of the light is coming in through the blinds, the slats only partially turned to block the morning. The rest is ambient lighting from recesses in the ceiling, installed for security purposes but blessedly unobtrusive.

At about 0600 hours, she'd grown cold in her PVC mini skirt - _something to do with the lack of sleep, _she figures - and had changed into a pair of black leather pants she keeps in her desk drawer. With several tests running and her e-mail and blog all up-to-date, she quickly became bored and took the elevator to the bullpen, making faces and striking poses like 'Charlie's Angels' in the polished steel interior - _just because she could_.

There is only one other person in the bullpen and he is hardly in a state for company. Special Agent Tony DiNozzo is curled on the floor behind his desk, dressed in the same clothes he wore the day before. His jacket is acting as a pillow and he sleeps the sleep of the drugged. After his first pizza, the pain had been sufficient that more meds were required. Ducky had modified the dosage to avoid another violent reaction.

So Abby sits on Tony's desk and watches him sleep and wonders if guardian angels perch themselves in this manner, staying above the living in their care in order to keep a proper eye on them.

_Wonders if Kate's guardian angel was on break or something._

She's been working for NCIS just over six years now, and Tony for forty-three months. They calculate their time differently. Tony says that months sound more satisfying, as if he's been here longer than the three years and seven months they represent, and he's very conscious of how long he's worked at the same place. She knows why he does this but wishes he'd stop now that he's beaten his two years in Peoria. He doesn't tend to let things go, though, which is one of the reasons he makes an excellent investigator.

It is also one of the reasons he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Even unconscious and being put through the wringer, Tony looks good. He isn't the _only_ cute guy at the office - for example, McGee is cute, too, just in a different way, and Gibbs is the Silver-Haired Fox and she'll smack anyone who contradicts her - but Tony's got that classic Hollywood-thing going for him. Attitude and looks, like Steve McQueen, Clint Eastwood, Sean Connery, Robert Redford.

_Action heroes and heart breakers._

When Tony goes into full 'cop mode', he is bewitching.

She savours this opportunity to watch him without interruption. She doesn't care what people think about her - _most of the time_ - so that isn't why she's staring now, in the solitude of the dawn. There's just usually so much going on that there isn't time to pause and appreciate the view. Teasing Tony she can squeeze into the schedule. It's fun trying to embarrass him but it isn't easy. He's a pro at chitchat, banter and sexual innuendo, and she likes the challenge.

He's a good friend and she doubts they'll ever be more than that and that's fine with her - but she isn't dead. _Who knew work could have such yummy eye-candy?_ Abby keeps forgetting to ask if a modelling agent has ever approached him. He has good bone structure and he's tall and physically fit, with beautiful eyes and that smile…

She grins. _And that nice ass._

She spends the next few minutes picturing him in catalogue poses in his underwear - _just because she can_.

His PDA beeps a pre-set alarm at 0700 hours and he yawns and stretches. Abby files this away for replay later on. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket, his eyes still closed, pushing the number for the local pizza joint he has on speed dial.

When he opens his eyes, he doesn't seem surprised to find her on his desk. She grins down at him and he smiles, slowly, sleepily. He even lets her choose the toppings on his pizza. The call completed, he stands and stretches some more then sits in his chair, spinning around once before wheeling closer to the keyboard and giggling his mouse. He opens his e-mail, skims it and chooses one to read. He hits reply and starts to type as fast as he can.

_Which isn't terribly fast at all_, Abby notes. _Reports must be a bitch for him._ She silently counts to thirty after he presses 'send' then launches into a brand new topic without any preamble.

"Tell me about talking to Kate," she asks while they wait for the delivery. She is curious, sad, jealous - and hoping her ouija board is still in the back of her closet.

"Not right now, Abby," he says lightly, but he won't look at her when he speaks, instead focussing on the computer. She tilts her head to see the screen better. His task bar has government links, CNN News, a blog, and what she suspects is an unfinished game of Solitare.

"You can't avoid me forever, Tony, and you _know_ I'm gonna keep asking."

"I know," he says, sounding resigned to his fate. "I don't really want to avoid you at all, Abbs. I'm kinda freaked out about it, actually, just… just don't ask me _now_." He looks up at her then and she sees the mask slip ever so slightly. "Okay?"

Abby has an overwhelming urge to hug him and try to soothe the pain in those glazed green eyes but knows that at this very moment, he probably couldn't take her touch. _This is Tony_, she reminds herself. _He'd want to hug back and that could make him break. He'd have trouble then. _

_Trouble keeping it together._

"Okay." Her voice is steady, clear, with no sign of teasing. She wants him to know he can count on her.

Needing to do something, she checks her watch to see if they'll be getting a free pizza and doesn't pursue the topic.

Special Agent Timothy McGee joins them just as the food arrives; in fact, he's ridden in the same elevator as the delivery guy. Abby doesn't care if Tim is on probation or not, he's an agent like the others as far as she's concerned. He's intelligent and smart with computers - _almost_ as smart as she is - and he's really very sweet. They definitely make better friends than lovers but it was fun and she doesn't regret it. She glances over at him and notes he looks a little green.

"Morning," he manages, swallowing hard as he moves towards his desk and drapes his trench coat over the back of his chair.

_Guess he doesn't have pizza for breakfast._

"Morning," Abby responds brightly. Tony pays the delivery guy and Abby can't wait to help him eat one of his favourite foods. The meal bar she had at 0530 hours just didn't cut it.

She plucks at the pizza as it emerges form the cardboard box, liberating pieces of gooey cheese and sucking the grease from her fingers. She hasn't changed her position in a while and idly wonders if she'll be able to move when she tries.

"Wanna slice, Probie?"

Tony leans back in his chair, feet on his desk, ankles crossed, and happily starts working his way through his second pizza of the day - _double cheese, pepperoni, spicy sausage, green peppers and onions_. This is his third bottle of Coke since about 0400 hours.

"No, thanks," McGee declines weakly and tries not to inhale the aroma of the spicy sausage as he logs on to his computer. Tony chuckles and chews.

By eight forty-five in the morning, the Justice of the Peace has been tracked down and records verify that Robert Joseph Garvey and Stacey Burnett were married two months ago in a small civil ceremony. Tony has made several inquiries for information on one of the witnesses at the wedding, a woman named Maxine Wu.

The other witness was Petty Officer First Class Federico Rossi.

The office is busy now. Although the sun is shining, it doesn't seem to be producing much heat as the employees of NCIS are arriving in heavy jackets and gloves and layers of clothing underneath. The aroma of coffee permeates every corner of the office. _Columbia, Arabia, Sumatra._ Blends with the hint of chocolate and alcohol and spice. Even those staff members who don't usually indulge seem to need the extra caffeine to deal with a truly cold November day.

There is no denying the inevitable. Winter has arrived and the tension in the office regarding the approaching holiday season begins. The 'Secret Santa' gift exchange is a tradition, much like fruitcake and stringing lights while balancing precariously on the roof. Abby knows it is widely speculated that the real reason Agent Faulkner ended up shot in the foot before the staff Christmas party last year was an attempt to avoid another tie that played 'Jingle Bells'.

The tie had followed him to the hospital anyway.

Tony says he isn't worried about his Secret Santa. He had a date with an IV unit and heavy drugs when the Planning Committee for this sort of thing geared up. He will deal with the name he pulls from the jar when the time arrives.

Abby can't wait to find out who she'll be buying for this year. She loves Christmas.

Tony is on his third slice. Despite his cheerful, upbeat demeanour, he looks exhausted and she worries that he's pushing himself too hard, especially after his confusion and issues with mistimed medication in Autopsy earlier.

"Where's Gibbs?" she asks, looking at the desk in question. Everything on it - which admittedly, isn't much - is neatly lined up with military precision. Gibbs isn't anal. As the only member of the team with a military background, sometimes its easy for the others to forget that even though he isn't officially a Marine anymore the habits drilled into him will never cease.

Tony frowns slightly. "Last time I saw him he was going back to Autopsy."

"Oh, I know about _that_. I gave him the results that sent him there but that was like -" She consults her watch. "- almost three-and-a-half hours ago. Is he still there?"

He shrugs and reaches for another piece of pizza. "Dunno. I was asleep, remember?" He raises his eyebrows. "What did you find?"

She sits straighter, her hands on her knees and grins, eyes bright. "Splinters of wood in the late Robert Garvey's hair. Northern white ash, to be exact."

Tony and McGee exchange a look. "Baseball bat," Tony declares.

"I knew that," McGee states grouchily.

"You know your sports," Abby says, pleased that despite feeling awful, Tony is on the ball and rolling with it. She isn't surprised.

"Actually, basketball is more my thing but there was a case in Baltimore where the guy kayoed his uncle with a baseball bat for sleeping with his wife."

"I used to play softball." McGee stops speaking when Tony playfully waves a piece of pizza at him.

"Those aren't real bats, Probie. They're composites. Not like the _real _game."

"Hey, softball is a real game - _Tony!_ Get that pizza away from me."

Tony sits down again, grinning. "Well, Probie, a baseball bat is close to a lead pipe. Think I was right about the girlfriend?" McGee just rolls his eyes and returns to his computer.

Abby notes that he can type much faster than Tony.

The pizza is almost finished so she decides to stretch her legs in preparation for standing. Tony watches her appreciatively.

"You look like a pixie." She stares at him, not blinking. "Well, a _sexy_ pixie via Leatherworld," he amends, grinning.

She beams. "Much better."

Her boots touch the carpet just as Tony's desk 'phone rings. He answers it and she can hear the person on the other end very clearly.

"DiNozzo."

_"Is Abby up there?"_

"Yeah, Boss, she's here."

_"Tell her to get down to Autopsy, pronto. Hell, you and McGee had better get down here, too. Bring whatever you've got on the Garvey case."_

"Sure thing -" The line goes dead. "Boss."

"Well," she says and thanks Tony when he steadies her. _Must practice my yoga_, she thinks as she leads the men to the elevator. "Let's go see what Ducky's found out."

Tony presses the button and holds it, as if he doesn't trust the device to remember their request.

"You don't have to do that, Tony." _McGee, the ever-helpful._

The former cop gives him that Gibbs-like look and Abby wishes she had her camera. Usually she doesn't do portraits, but for Tony DiNozzo, she'll make an exception.

She pictures him in his underwear again and starts giggling. As they enter the elevator and the doors close, both men regard one another over the top of her head, bonding briefly in their shared confusion.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	8. Chapter 8

**August 6, 2006:** Here is another chapter. Sorry it has taken so long: Time, energy, computer issues and some more FFN hiccups.

As usual, any characters you recognize belong to the NCIS universe and any you don't recognize belong to me. Just for fun, folks, no infringement intended. This story still isn't being Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault. For example, birth dates are touched upon briefly and I have my own take on them. If they've been established in the show, I don't know about it so please bear with me. :)

**August 13, 2006:** My continued thanks to those who read and those who review my writing. Your comments are greatly appreciated. :)

I enjoyed doing Abby's perspective for the last chapter so here is McGee's.

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Eight **

**By lilmouse**

**_"The public doesn't give a damn about integrity. A town that won't defend itself deserves no help."_**

_- Martin Howe (Lon Chaney Jr.), 'High Noon', 1952_

Special Agent Timothy McGee is tired and nauseous and that is never a good way to start the day.

It is 0900 hours.

He is in Autopsy - _again_ - and the body of Robert Joseph Garvey is still on one of the tables. At the moment, it is covered by a sheet and for that he is very grateful. The body was exposed when he'd first arrived and Tim has never been comfortable in the presence of death. The smell of chemicals clashes with the lingering aroma of the spicy sausage on Tony's latest pizza but he's trying not to think about it.

At least the visual input has been reduced.

Doctor Donald Mallard has explained his findings in full detail and the team is asking questions and posing theories. The cause of death is blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. Other parts of the body are broken and fractured and bruised but Ducky figures the victim was already dead when these injuries occurred.

_Probably._

"If he was indeed the one who so brutally murdered his sister," the good doctor had concluded, "then he certainly had a taste of his own medicine."

Gibbs and Abby are discussing baseball bats and the age of wood and he really isn't following the conversation very well. He gathers that some hairs have been discovered on the body under the uniform - _costume_ - that don't belong to Mr. Garvey. They could be traces of the murderer and this is good news but he's having trouble focussing on anything but the body.

_The body._ It was a person, once. Living, breathing, dreaming.

_Just like Caitlin Todd._

He misses her smile, her teasing and her insight. He can still see her lying in that cold, cold drawer in the Morgue. The image of her beautiful face so still and expressionless is permanently burned into his brain, filed under the heading of 'Friends Lost'.

He likes to think he would have come to say his goodbyes to her without the encouragement of Tony DiNozzo, but he still isn't sure if he would have had the nerve to stay alone with her for very long. There are times when Tony drives him crazy - _patient, affable, aim-to-please Tim McGee_ - to the point where he wonders if he _is_ capable of committing murder.

_And yet -_

Tony had followed him down, taken the time to ensure that he had visited Kate before she - _her body_ - was prepared for her funeral. Kate deserved his respect, deserved to be acknowledged as a member of the team one more time by two of the men who worked hand in hand with her daily to try to make the world a better place.

Tony, Kate and Tim. "The Three Amigos", as Tony had referred to them during one of his amicable moods that always puts McGee on alert.

Kate: one of the guys while simultaneously being a strong, intelligent woman.

Kate: his nosy, protective 'big sister'.

Kate: confident, beautiful, caring.

_Dead._

It is still so fresh in his memory that there are times when he looks at her desk and expects her to be there, across from Tony, having a paperclip fight or sniping about a difficult case. Then they'll realize he's trying to work and decide he's a viable target. They'll gang up on him, any moment now, and he'll feel the spotlight of hazing he thought he'd left behind after his first year at MIT. So familiar, patterns and habits and all part of the dysfunctional, wonderful office family he looks forward to seeing every day.

_Gone._

He wonders if anyone in the crowd of people who were waiting to greet their loved ones knows that a woman died that day on the roof of a nearby building - protecting _her_ family.

Tim knew he was delaying the inevitable by not visiting Kate but if he saw her body it would make it real and he wouldn't be able to pretend she was still alive just… not at her desk. But because of Tony, Tim was at least provided with a degree of comfort and closure.

_Speaking of whom -_

Tony looks tired. Earlier this morning, he apparently saw the ghost of Kate and had a conversation with her. Tim isn't sure what to make of that. He figures if anyone should be speaking with someone from "beyond the grave" it should be Abby. Abby's into the supernatural and was Kate's friend. Sure, Tony was Kate's partner but -

Gibbs is handling her absence in his own way, a silent, closed, personal topic. Tim decides he'll never truly understand it. Immediately following her death, he suspects Gibbs had trouble dealing with it - no, he _knows_ Gibbs had trouble dealing with it. Who wouldn't? The man's pain, indecision and guilt were obvious. Gibbs closed up pretty quickly, though, sealed the breaches in the hull of the battleship, and now he's the same as he was before Kate was killed.

_Except where he's completely different._

Tim knows it should disturb him that he and Tony have connected on some level since they lost Kate, grown closer as co-workers and even - _who knew? _- be considered by one another as friends. It isn't right yet. The dynamic has shifted and they're still finding their new positions. Silent grief or no, they all wish the adjustments were unnecessary.

Wishing will not make it so.

"_Told you she looked good..." Tony had addressed her profile. "Probie wouldn't believe me, Kate. Thought you would look like the 'Return of the Living Dead'."_

"_Did not", Tim had protested._

"_Don't lie to the dead, McGee... it's not nice."_

"_I was a little afraid." He could admit that. It was the truth._

"_He was terrified... but it took a lot of guts to come down here alone... showed how much he cared for you..."_

_McGee had swallowed and stated quietly, "I really did like you, Kate."_

Tim will always remember Tony DiNozzo for that respectful time with their teammate. The senior agent can do almost anything these days and Tim will be more tolerant of his humour and less chiding of his ways.

Especially after Tony was shot while protecting the little girl, Katie Garvey. He thought they were going to lose him, too, and Tim wasn't sure if he could take that, not so soon after -

But he still fights back when Tony pushes and defends his position admirably, he thinks. If he were totally accepting of the abuse it wouldn't work at all. That isn't part of the exercise. He might not like the process of being a 'Probie' but he knows it is a necessary step to becoming a good agent.

Someone is asking him a question. Tim is startled from his memories and swallows. It isn't just anyone asking the question but _Gibbs_. He quickly searches his mind to see if it registered or not.

_Error. You cannot access this file._

_Damn._

"McGee -"

"Sorry, Boss, I don't think I caught that last bit -"

"The answer is three," a voice states quietly, and Tim realizes it is the first time Tony has spoken since they entered Autopsy.

"Did I ask you, DiNozzo?"

"You should if you want an answer, Boss."

Tim is torn between being insulted and being grateful. The insult is almost expected. It's just something Tony does as his twisted form of initiation and a way to remind the less experienced agent of the pecking order.

The rescue from the Wrath of Gibbs is unusual and it is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has presented himself as an alternate target. Normally Tony smiles when McGee is in trouble and does the verbal equivalent of pulling up a chair and eating popcorn to watch the show.

This doesn't appear to be a normal day.

There seems to be some sort of pissing contest going on between Gibbs and Tony and he can't find the Cole's Notes for that one.

"Oh, three, _that _three, yes," McGee stammers. "Three different sets of footprints in the mud near the shoreline."

He risks a glance at Gibbs. The man stares at him with his usual penetrating gaze. Tim feels like all his past mistakes are exposed for the agent to see, mute evidence of his failures.

Trampling his ego.

He may never fully understand how Gibbs manages that with just one look.

_No._

He _knows_ he will never fully understand -

Tony must be noticing his lack of concentration because he sends Tim a look that yells: "Focus!"

"Two have been accounted for." Abby fills the silence with her bubbly personality before the air grows stale with disuse. "A man and a teenaged boy pulled the body from the water. We've got their shoe impressions and they match."

"Which leaves a third person," Tony says, shifting in his chair, "who obviously _isn't _our buddy here as he was in no condition to do a jig in the mud."

Abby nods. "Or anything else for that matter."

Tim tries not to envision the body dancing to some macabre rhythm in the dark beside the East Potomac River, like a puppet jerking on invisible strings. The image is there nonetheless, a dance in the floodlights provided by NCIS for the show.

_Too many horror movies as a kid -_

"We don't think the body was dumped at that spot, though," Abby continues.

Gibbs narrows his eyes dangerously. "You don't think?"

"We _know_ the body wasn't dumped at that spot," Abby corrects smoothly. "There is evidence of that further up river - blood on the break wall, fibres from the fake uniform, but no footprints, unfortunately -"

"No mud," Gibbs states.

"Right. So the third set probably doesn't belong to the killer. I mean, why would they go stand there after doing the deed?"

"But if the prints belong to an innocent bystander," Tony adds, "why didn't they send up an alarm?"

"You're assuming they saw the body," Tim points out, pleased he is able to contribute something.

"The current is slower at the edge of the river," Ducky interjects. He looks down at the topic of their conversation. "Mr. Garvey wouldn't float to the point he was found for a while."

"Dead how long again?" Gibbs asks tersely.

"I estimate about three hours at the time of discovery."

"And in the water for…?"

Ducky sighs. "Forty-five minutes, tops." He shakes his head and murmurs, "I wonder why they bothered?"

They'd gone over this point before. Tim leans against one of the tables and thinks out loud. Sometimes that tactic gets him into trouble but often it helps clear his head. "But why didn't they just dig a hole in their back yard or throw it in a dumpster in an alley somewhere? You can find better places to hide a body than a public park without the cover of darkness. The body was put in the river while it was still light, with people around -"

"So someone could have seen it happen," Tony interrupts, "but none of the folks who were involved with spotting the body recall seeing _anything _suspicious, and if they _did_, I ask once again: why didn't they call 9-1-1 at the time? Why wait?"

Abby shrugs and sucks noisily on her straw, getting the last drop of her Caff-pow!. "They didn't see it happen."

Tony's expression suddenly hardens. "Or they knew the killer."

"DiNozzo -"

"Bear with me, Boss." Tony isn't looking at any of his teammates. For a moment, Tim wonders if he's seeing Kate again but he seems to be staring at the body. "What if," he continues slowly, "Robert Joseph Garvey was killed… somewhere else, we'll say for now -"

"Likely the case," Ducky mutters as he lifts the sheet and looks at the body once more.

"- and the killer or killers brought him to the park in a car. Makes sense: paved surface going in and out, no hassles with leaving tracks, park open 24/7. The road goes closer to the break wall where we found signs of the body's entry into the river. Someone carries the body to the edge and dumps it over the wall. Quickly, casually. How many people are paying attention? It's a cold day in November and it'll be dark soon." Tony smiles and Tim feels the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. It's a clever smile, a killer smile, and he is reminded that Tony worked in Homicide before coming here and has had to kill to defend himself and others in the line of duty.

McGee isn't sure if he could do that. He hopes he never has to find out.

"Your point, DiNozzo?"

"The third set of prints belong to someone who stood further down the river so that they could _watch_. They were an accomplice, and they didn't wait until it got _dark _because where would be the fun in that? Maybe they even took pictures to commemorate the event."

"And the uniform?"

"Costume," Abby says with a roll of her eyes.

"Trying to get our attention, taunting us."

"Why?"

It sounds like a bad mystery script to Tim. Tony turns his head slightly to regard Gibbs.

"Sat-is-_fac_-tion?"

"You've been watching too many movies, DiNozzo."

"No, I haven't," Tony growls, his eyes bright. "I've been stuck in hospital without my DVD player while I should've been out here working on the Garvey case."

McGee's eyes widen as the two men assess one another. The drugs are obviously affecting Tony's mind. He's riding the edge of the razor and might not be aware of how close he is to being cut. He probably shouldn't be at work yet.

_There's that pissing contest again -_

Across from him, Abby is frowning. He can tell she doesn't like the way they seem to be baiting one another - _well, _Tim amends_, the way Tony seems to be baiting Gibbs_ - and her mood is a warning sign that the very bad morning might develop into a very bad day. The tension is a physical entity in the room.

"Anthony, what are the chances of the body being pulled ashore at the very point this hypothetical person stood earlier?"

Tim releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

_Thank you, Ducky. I'll listen to any stories you want to tell me -_

"About the same odds as three cell phones ringing at once," Tony replies without hesitation. Ducky raises his eyebrows.

"It happened yesterday," Tim explains and Ducky nods as if that is all the information he requires.

"I see."

"I _don't_. We need solid evidence, DiNozzo. What's telling you there was an accomplice?"

Tim counts to two before Tony levels his gaze on Gibbs and states firmly, "My _gut_."

Gibbs stares at Tony. The gut argument is a tough one to dispute when it comes to their boss. Can _Tony_ get away with it? Tim counts to five before Gibbs decides to respond.

_"DiNozzo -"_

"Photos!" Tony stands carefully and moves with as much grace as his body will allow given the circumstances. Even now it is a level of physical grace that Tim envies and knows he will never attain.

Abby pulls the photographs Tony took of the site from a craft paper envelope and puts the pile on the table. Tony places the fingers of one hand on them and applies just enough pressure that he spreads them like a croupier with a pack of cards. He runs a finger along the edges and stops at one, tugging it free without disturbing any of the other photographs. Tim has seen a magic trick like that and has no idea how Tony does it.

"Exhibit 'A'." Tony holds the photo approximately at eyelevel for a tall man. Tim wonders if he does this intentionally to assist Gibbs - who dislikes wearing his glasses - or if it is just a coincidence. "The unidentified pair of feet," he announces.

"Which are wearing some kind of hiking shoe," Abby says. _Did she just stifle a yawn?_ _Nah -_ "Size eleven, so probably a tall man."

"Or a tall woman," Ducky observes.

Tony's eyes squint slightly. Tim recognizes it as something his co-worker does when he's thinking. "Probie?"

"Yes?"

"You've met Stacey Burnett. How tall would you say she is?"

"Pretty tall," Tim starts but Gibbs is in a hurry.

"How tall is _that_, McGee?" Gibbs has met her, too, had her in the interrogation room when they were working on Garvey's alibi. Tim knows his boss is trying to make him think.

"Bit taller than Abby but shorter than you," he manages without stammering.

"I'm five-ten," Abby pipes up, bouncing slightly. _And that's before those boots -_

"And the Boss is six-foot," Tony adds.

"She's… tall," Tim states weakly and Abby looks at him with a slight frown.

"I'm gonna have to do your natal chart, Timmy. I can't believe you're a Scorpio."

"Leave him alone, Abbs -"

"That is _so_ your Moon talking, Tony, but if your sun sign wasn't modified by Aries -"

"Focus," Gibbs growls and the room is silent.

They all look at the black and white eight-by-ten of muddy imprints, expecting revelations to appear.

"It could be a woman," Tony says quietly.

Abby's head bobs once. "Yes."

Tony purses his lips. "They stood in this spot long enough to give us a deep, clear set. So about… one-twenty?"

Abby's head bobs again, the calculations to determine the weight of the subject automatic for her. _Experience makes it like breathing -_ "That'd do."

He turns his head just enough to look at Tim, who meets his gaze, darts to the photo once more, the looks back with more confidence. "That'd be about right for her, yeah."

Tony grins and tosses the photo on the table. "So some guy dumps the body while Stacey waits over here." He points to the crude diagram of the site he drew earlier while Ducky was talking, using a napkin from the pizza place. Abby has much better diagrams in her lab but they aren't there right now so Tony worked with the materials at hand.

_Improvisation can save your life -_

"If these shoes belong to a woman," Gibbs challenges, "who says it was a _man_ that ditched the body?"

"That's a lot of weight to lift over a break wall, Boss," Tim states, assessing Robert Joseph Garvey to be over two hundred pounds. Tony's smile of approval is one he can't resist returning.

Gibbs glances at him briefly and with a "Humph" and a half smile, he strides from the room. "I want more concrete evidence and Stacey Burnett in here before lunch. Make it happen, people."

Tim is startled from his smile by a firm hand on his shoulder. "Good work, Probie."

"Thanks, Tony."

But there isn't time to bask in the glow of praise as his friend is already in motion. "Now let's get to it."

**_To Be Continued…_**


	9. Chapter 9

**August 18, 2006:** Here is another chapter. Getting the details of the case sorted out has taken more time than I'd like so my apologies.

As usual, any characters you recognize belong to the NCIS universe and any you don't recognize belong to me. I write for the sheer pleasure of creating, folks - no infringement intended. This story still isn't being Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault.

**August 28, 2006:** My continued thanks to those who read and those who review my writing. Your comments are greatly appreciated. :)

I have enjoyed doing the other perspectives over the last two chapters so here is the inevitable viewpoint: Gibbs.

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Nine**

**By lilmouse**

"**_You're Mrs. Kane, ain't you?"_**

"**_Yes."_**

_**"You're leaving on the noon train?"**_

_**"Yes." **_

_**"But your husband ain't?" **_

_**"No, why?" **_

_**"No reason, but it's mighty interesting. Now, me, I wouldn't leave this town for all the tea in China. No, sir, it's going to be quite a sight to see!"**_

_- Hotel Clerk (Howland Chamberlain) to Amy Fowler Kane (Grace Kelly), 'High Noon', 1952_

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs leans back in his chair, his glasses resting precariously on the end of his nose. He is reviewing the official reports regarding the cause of death for two people: Helen Garvey and her brother, Robert Joseph Garvey. The former was assaulted with fists and knives, the latter with fists and a baseball bat, but the end was the same.

Death takes you, regardless of your method of departure or your willingness to do so.

Anything the victims did or didn't do - from holiday time they hadn't used, to the food they chose not to eat for health reasons, to the telephone calls they neglected to return - will remain choices they cannot alter. No worries now.

He hopes the information will trigger some insight into their deaths: who killed them and why. He can recount the details of _how_ they died without looking, of course, but knows the process of running through the facts repeatedly can sometimes clear the mind of any thoughts that might distract from bringing the perpetrator to justice.

For there is another victim in this case who must deal with the aftermath on a daily basis, coping somehow despite the horrific nature of the crime.

A little girl named Katie Garvey lives in a shattered world of fear and uncertainty. He wishes he could change that for her. His knuckles whiten in frustration as he works on his boat at two in the morning, gripping the sander tighter than necessary as he runs the evidence in his head over and over again. He thinks that maybe if he looks at it long enough, the pieces will resolve into something tangible.

Regardless of the outcome, Helen won't see her daughter grow or experience any of the 'first times' together, and Katie's last memory of her mother will be the sound of her screams as she was slowly killed. These are the facts and he cannot change them. Gibbs would take that pain away if he could, reunite mother and daughter and make it better.

He has no sympathy for Helen's brother, now a corpse shelved in Ducky's Morgue, awaiting the conclusion of this complicated case. An irrational part of him is sorry he wasn't able to personally make the man suffer but there are lines he doesn't cross.

_Usually._

He sighs and leans forward, dropping the file folders onto his desk. His glasses follow shortly thereafter. The Powers That Be dictated several years ago that a regular telephone wasn't sufficient to cover taking care of business in this century. He glances at his computer, checks his e-mail and wonders why he bothers dealing with technology at all if it doesn't get him the results he needs any faster. His Inbox is empty. He checks his cell phone for the umpteenth time, ensuring it is fully charged and hasn't managed to swallow any incoming calls.

_The silence is killing him._

There are other teams working in the same room, a sprawling assortment of humanity huddled behind little office dividers that offer a mockery of privacy. In fact, busy humans surround him, typing and sipping coffee and talking and tapping their pens, and it is what he imagines it must be like living in a hive. They aren't part of _his_ team, though, and they aren't using _his_ space. He knows how his section of the office should sound, like his ability to determine the speed of a ship by the vibration beneath his feet. There should be a certain level of banter and teasing and brainstorming, all indications that three very different people have formed a team he can rely on - and that they can rely on each other.

Three desks in the bullpen are empty.

Agents DiNozzo and McGee are on their way to Charlestown, West Virginia, to pay a visit to Stacey Burnett, and Agent Todd is -

He looks at the desk to his right. How many mugs of bourbon before the pain goes away? He's never lost one of his agents. Ever.

_Well, that record is broken now, isn't it, Marine?_

_Damn._

Gibbs knows logically that there isn't anything he could have done to prevent Ari from killing Kate, but then logic doesn't always prevail. This is the man who listens to his gut even when the evidence tells a different story.

**_Wow, I thought I'd die before I ever heard -_**

He knows Ari is dead but in the long run that gives him very little satisfaction. He's willing to take the credit for putting a bullet into the bastard's forehead, though, and is content that at least he was there to watch it happen.

Well, mostly content.

He hasn't had a secret this important in a while and hopes that Ziva David keeps her mouth shut. It won't benefit either of them if she doesn't. His gut tells him she'll remain silent on the matter.

Thinking about the loss of Kate hurts and he can't drink on the job so he looks back at the files, hoping for something to distract him.

_Maybe another coffee -_

The clock on the wall matches the time on his watch with military precision. He stands, grabs his cell phone, flips it open and pushes one of the few numbers he had McGee program on speed dial. He has almost reached the elevator when someone answers on the third ring.

"_DiNozzo."_

"Where the hell are you?"

"_Hello, Boss. I'm fine, thanks for asking."_

Gibbs wonders what level of physical agony Tony is enduring now. He's been counting the number of pain pills his senior agent has consumed since returning to duty, though he imagines the actual count is higher than that. Gibbs knows Tony has been trying to conceal them and despite what his team might think, he can't be everywhere. He tells himself that he's monitoring DiNozzo as any good leader would. He isn't Tony's father, though he suspects he'd do a better job than the man who officially holds that position. There will be no support from family so Gibbs has appointed himself to fill the void.

He isn't consciously doing so on any level he'll admit to.

He doesn't fully understand why he hasn't sent Tony home, though he suspects it has something to do with watching him crawl the walls at the hospital for the last three weeks or so. They share a similar hate for sterilized environments and obstacles that prevent them from doing their job.

He thinks he must be getting soft in his old age.

"Good to know, DiNozzo, but that's not what I asked you. Where are you?"

"_In the car, Boss," _comes the cheery reply. "_Driving."_

Gibbs tries not to clench his jaw in response. Tony has been baiting him since he returned to duty. He steps into the elevator and presses the button for the ground floor. He really should buy shares in Starbucks. "DiNozzo -"

"_Almost there. We hit some traffic."_ Gibbs hears a few expletives and the sound of a horn mooing. The radio is on and he can make out the baseline of some rock 'n' roll song.

"You'd better not 'hit' any traffic. We don't have time for a collision."

"_That's funny, Boss. You should do stand-up."_

"Drive faster."

"_I don't think McGee would agree. Oh, look, he wants to talk to you."_

Gibbs can tell by the change in the volume of the music and the stammering protests that the cell has been tossed to Tony's startled passenger. He hears a "_Hey!" _followed by some muffled objections before McGee clears his throat to deal with the call. "_Hi, Boss."_

"How close are you to Charlestown, McGee?"

"_Uh, I don't know, about five, ten minutes, depending on the traffic."_ The man gulps and Gibbs can hear another horn. "_That is, if Tony doesn't get us killed first."_

"_What're you talking about, Probie?" _Tony protests in the background. "_I'm driving like the master!"_

The elevator reaches the ground floor and Gibbs steps through the doors, his broad shoulders brushing them, as they don't slide open quite fast enough. He passes another agent - _what's his name, Mitchell?_ - who manages to avoid a collision which would have spilled hot chocolate over both of them. Gibbs frowns. Mitchell's been clumsy a lot lately, reminding him of McGee in his early days with the team. He briefly considers toning down the intimidation factor. Then he's out of the building into the crisp morning air.

He guesses that _he_ is the 'master' Tony is referring to - _after all_, he smirks, _the team is frequently commenting on his skill behind the wheel _- but isn't sure if the reference here is intended as a criticism or a compliment.

He opts to refrain from comment and banks a head slap for later.

"You can tell DiNozzo that he has to get Stacey Burnett back here in one piece."

"_What about me, Boss?"_

"You can't witness the questioning if you're in pieces, McGee," he says, striding along the sidewalk to his destination.

"_Uh, no, I meant is there anything in particular that you might like me to do that -"_

He can feel the warmth before he opens the second door of the coffee shop proper and various community news postings flutter on the corkboard as he passes. "I know what you meant, McGee. You're Tony's back-up, just in case."

"_Right, Boss. Uh, just in case of what?"_

"In case the shit hits the fan, McGee."

"_Right."_

"And you can tell DiNozzo that if he gets you killed while driving, he'll be next in line."

"_Right, Boss." _Gibbs can hear the sharp squeal of brakes then the engine roars like an angry lion. "_Um, w-what if he gets me killed when he _isn't _driving?"_

"That's your own problem."

He flips his phone shut and sticks it in a pocket of his jacket, ending the conversation in his usual abrupt manner. He waits in line for his coffee, trying focus on the Garvey case and not dwell on death.

**_Wow, I thought I'd die before I ever heard -_**

He shivers. The aroma of brewed beans isn't calming him this morning and this will be his third cup. It is usually the magic elixir to so many of his problems that he can't envision being without.

Gibbs is well aware that the availability of good coffee at a hospital is about as likely as pigs growing wings and he wants to ensure that there aren't any more life-threatening injuries any time soon. He had enough bad coffee when one of his agents was quarantined with the plague and again when the same man was shot protecting Katie Garvey.

Trouble seems to follow Special Agent Tony DiNozzo with annoying persistence. It lurks around the corner and consistently selects Tony as the target.

Gibbs would have stern words with God about this if he still believed.

He moves forward in the line, not completely oblivious to some of the looks he receives from the regular staff. For the most part, he is polite but brief with them, but they have had the privilege and curse of seeing him almost daily _before_ his first coffee and know there is a foul creature inside that can snarl and snap. They know who he is and where he works but they don't ask him any questions or try to make small talk. He is frequently too preoccupied to think beyond the words 'morning', 'coffee,extra large, black' and 'thanks', resorting to pointing and grunting some days when the sun isn't up yet and his cup has to be filled before the first pot has finished brewing.

He hopes he didn't scare the three young people who were working the morning after Kate was killed. He'd paid for his coffee and hesitated. Then he'd looked each of them in the eye and quietly said, "You make sure your boss takes care of you and gets some security cameras in here. Tell him I'll be checking."

He'd left before any of them could manage a response.

He glances at the two security cameras that were recently installed and wonders what the staff is like when he sends Tony or McGee to get the coffee instead.

The little redhead is on shift, looking bright and perky. He guesses she's not a day over nineteen.

"Good morning, can I take your order?"

She's also fairly new and doesn't know yet that he has the same thing every day.

"Morning. Coffee, extra large, black." Then he digresses from the script and adds, "Whatever's freshest as long as it isn't any of that flavoured crap."

She smiles and moves towards the pots. He sees the nametag on her apron, pinned at an angle, and for a heart-stopping moment he thinks her name is 'Kelly'.

When she turns back with his coffee, he can see her name is 'Kathy' and he remembers to breathe. "Thanks," he says, pays for his coffee and leaves.

Gibbs makes a brief detour to the corner store then returns to the office and descends to the level of the laboratories, using the stairs because the elevator is too slow for him right now.

Forensic Specialist Abby Sciuto is listening to the noise she calls music. He considers it a tool for her to focus on her work, not unlike the Caff-Pow! he places on the counter beside her. She turns from the screen and smiles, bouncing slightly in her thick-soled boots.

"Gibbs! I was about to call you. And I _so_ needed another one of these!" She grabs the cup and starts slurping at the caffeinated beverage. "You are _awesome_," she declares firmly around her straw.

"Anything further on the Garvey case?"

Her eyes gleam mischievously. "Funny you should ask. Even though it's only been, like, half an hour since Tony left, I've followed up on his hunch about the girlfriend, the hair and the body."

"And?"

"Do you want the exciting details or the short form?"

He levels his gaze at her. In those boots, he doesn't have to look down when she's standing. "What do you think, Abbs?"

She sighs. "Someday, you'll want the exciting details, I just know it -"

"_Abby -"_

"But for now, I know that Stacey Burnett was definitely with Robert Joseph Garvey when he was killed."

"Because -"

"Her hair was found under the naval costume he was wearing - which was put on him _after_ he died - _and_ it matches one I found in a most unlikely place."

She bounces a bit more until he wonders, not for the first time, if she's deliberately trying to torment him or just wired this way.

"Where?" It emerges as a growl but she doesn't cringe.

Her smile widens. "In the laptop belonging to Petty Officer First Class Federico Rossi."

He raises an eyebrow, silently requesting she elaborate. They have their own sign language outside of ASL.

"It was in the keyboard." Abby presses a button and two slide images appear side by side on the screen of her computer. Gibbs squints at the samples, which are obviously human hair, but he can't make out the analysis beside them.

_Need my glasses. Damn._

"_Everything_ gets into your keyboard, Gibbs. You need to use a can of compressed air on them regularly to get out all the bits or you'll have trouble using the keys down the road." They exchange a look and she rolls her eyes. "Okay, so Stacey is, as far as we know, married to Mr. Garvey so finding _her_ hair on _his_ body isn't so unusual, though being under the costume would suggest that she helped put it on the corpse."

"But how did it get into Rossi's keyboard?"

"_Exactly._ The marriage papers say he was one of the witnesses at their wedding so if he's friends with the couple -"

"Then that _isn't_ unusual -"

"_But_ she used his computer. I compared the fingerprints we got off the pen she used at the interview with the ones on the laptop and aside from Rossi, _her_ fingerprints are all over it -"

"Which suggests something more than just a casual acquaintance -"

"_And_ probably explains the code Rossi uses for his gambling." Gibbs frowns. "He bets on the track, on-line, and uses a code name."

"Which is?"

"'Race Lady Sting'."

Gibbs doesn't even try to figure out the connection. "And this is important because?"

Abby sighs and smiles at him fondly. "Oh, Gibbs. Didn't you ever play anagrams as a kid?"

"No." He doesn't have time for games.

"'Race Lady Sting' is an anagram for 'Darling Stacey'."

Gibbs and Abby share a startled look as they both come to the same conclusion.

"They might have already bolted," he says, referring to Burnett and Rossi.

"And they don't know about Rossi," she adds, referring to DiNozzo and McGee.

Gibbs has located which pocket he'd dropped his phone into earlier and hits the speed dial number once more.

"C'mon," Gibbs mutters. It rings six times and he thinks he's going to get voice mail when someone finally answers.

"_DiNozzo."_

"Burnett and Rossi are connected," Gibbs barks. "And they might have been involved with Garvey's murder. Watch yourselves when you get to her apartment."

"_No need, sir,"_ Tony says, unusually subdued. "_It's all under control."_

Something crawls across the back of his neck and Gibbs signals to Abby to track Tony's phone. Her eyes widen but she instantly complies. Gibbs figures if they have to use technology, at least it's good for something.

"What about the traffic?" he asks, trying to spin out the call so it sounds natural. He can hear the sound of an engine and realizes they're in a vehicle. If he were a gambler, he'd bet there was someone else listening to the conversation.

And he knows he'd win.

"How long did it take to get there?"

"_Not long though the directions were lousy,"_ Tony says, keeping it light and playing along. "_McGee sucks as a navigator. He's asleep right now or I'd let you talk to him."_

_What the hell -_ "He probably needs his rest," Gibbs manages.

Tony laughs softly and he can hear the slight strain in his voice. "_After the day we've had, we're gonna need a vacation."_

Perhaps the old saying is right: 'Trouble brings experience, and experience brings wisdom.' _In which case, DiNozzo should be a sage by now -_

"I'll talk to the Director and see what we can do."

Abby signals that she has the location and Gibbs signs for reinforcements. She nods and reaches for the handset.

"_We'd really appreciate that, sir,"_ Tony says. "_Well, I gotta go. We'll keep you posted."_

"See you soon, Tony." He can only hope that the simple statement and the use of his first name will tell his senior agent that help is on the way. He's trying to think of something else to say when another voice comes across the line. It is clear that they don't realize the line hasn't been disconnected yet.

"_Vacation. That's rich, special agent. Let's see how you and your buddy like the water."_

Gibbs is running by the time he reaches the stairs to the parking lot.

_**To Be Continued…**_


	10. Chapter 10

**September 8, 2006:** We're getting closer to the conclusion of this story - I think.

As usual, any characters you recognize belong to the NCIS universe and any you don't recognize belong to me. I write for the sheer pleasure of creating, folks - no infringement intended. This story still isn't being Betaed so any errors - including anything that contradicts facts established by the show - are my own darned fault.

My continued thanks to those who read and those who review my writing. Your comments are greatly appreciated. :)

In this chapter, we return to where we started, as it were: Tony's perspective.

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Ten**

**By lilmouse**

_**"Kane will be a dead man in half an hour and nobody's gonna do anything about it. And when he dies, this town dies too. I can feel it. I am all alone in the world. I have to make a living. So I'm going someplace else. That's all."**_

_Helen (Katy Jurado), 'High Noon', 1952_

The short street is deserted. Buildings of a simple clapboard construction border it on both sides. They wait in the blazing sun, abandoned.

His feet stand on the hard soil of a well-worn dirt road. There is no asphalt here, no concrete sidewalks. A narrow wooden deck runs in front of most of the buildings, providing some semblance of haven for when the weather is bad and the road becomes impassable for pedestrians. He cocks his head to one side at the sound of a distant train whistle. There is a church at the end of the street, marking the edge of the small town. Beside it is a tower about twenty feet tall where a large clock is mounted for all to see.

It is almost noon.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo doesn't know why everything is in black and white or why, when he looks down, he isn't dressed like a cowboy. He can taste the dust and hear the gentle rustle of tumbleweeds even though he can't see them. The wind has found a loose shutter and it starts to creak and bang with an irregular rhythm. The place seems so real, like a fragment of the Old West ripped from the memory of a late night movie. His turtleneck, dress pants, shoulder holster - Sig P-229 snugly ensconced - and fine Italian shoes tell him it must be a dream.

"It is," a voice says from somewhere to his left. He turns his head carefully, wary of what he might find but curious where the dream will take him. He knows that he should be doing something very important but he doesn't recall what it is, and he doesn't want to do anything that would end the dream before the story is complete.

Special Agent Caitlin Todd steps down from the wooden deck in front of the General Store and walks towards him. Her hair is back in a ponytail and tendrils have escaped at the sides. The wind plays with her bangs and ripples the edges of her t-shirt and sweatpants. She's wearing running shoes and a determined expression and looks prepared for a workout in the gym.

He is elated and dismayed that she is here.

_These days, it can only mean that trouble has found him once more._

"Nice outfit," he says, grinning.

"Nice hat," she says, giving him a small smile.

Tony slides his eyes slowly upwards until they almost cross. He can see the brim of a black Stetson. "Black? Does this mean I'm one of the bad guys?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "It's black and white _only_, DiNozzo, in case you haven't noticed." She grabs her cotton sweats at the thighs and pulls on the material for emphasis. They are dark grey. There is no colour, anywhere.

He remembers she looks pretty sharp in blue.

"You got a problem with your hat, DiNozzo, talk to 'wardrobe'."

He can't believe they're wasting time discussing the lack of colour in a dream when there are so many more important things they could be talking about.

Tony sighs: _First things first._

"Why are we here?"

Kate shrugs. "It's _your_ dream, DiNozzo. You tell me."

"Hello? I'm obviously _unconscious_," he protests, standing toe to toe with her and looking down. He'd almost forgotten her height. Brown eyes rise to meet his with confidence as she squints against the dream sun.

"You're in trouble again," she states softly, all teasing gone from her voice. After having several conversations with her ghost recently, he has no reason to doubt that she is telling the truth.

Then the memory of the last twenty-four hours comes rushing back in jagged pieces and impacts him like a physical blow. He staggers. Kate grabs him by the upper arms and holds him steady.

He remembers to breathe. "_McGee -"_

"He's okay, for now." She gives him a wan smile. "He'll have quite the lump on his head for a while, though."

"Assuming we get out of this."

"_Tony,"_ she says sharply and he straightens automatically.

"You're right." He nods slightly. "Yeah, no problem. We'll get out of this just fine." He blinks. "Why does my head hurt so much?

"DiNozzo meets drywall."

"Right." Tony vaguely recalls being grabbed from behind and thrown into a coffee table. It didn't break like it always does in the movies and had hurt like hell. Then he'd been pulled up by his shoulders and rammed into a wall. _And that was_ before _I spoke with Gibbs._ "And I'm unconscious right now because -"

"You played the hero and thought you were in the WWF but your manoeuvre didn't work."

"Right."

"And Rossi is in the Navy and built like a brick shithouse and you and McGee _aren't_."

"Right." A grin starts in spite of the pain. "I'm _solid_, though. Abby said so."

"I'd use the word 'thick' instead but you'd find some way to pervert anything I say."

"Probably."

They share a smile as they indulge in a familiar rapport. Tony takes a shaky breath and says, "God, I miss you…"

Kate releases her hold on his arms. "You need to _focus_, Tony. Focus on what's going on in the van and how you're going to get out of this mess."

Tony frowns. "I thought you said we'd get out of this just fine."

He's clinging to her presence like a lifeline and knows he shouldn't. This is a dream and as much as he'd like his dead partner to be real, she isn't.

"Actually, all I said was your name and you provided the positive reinforcement yourself."

"Uh-huh." He absently pushes his Stetson back on his head and runs a hand along his temple, thinking. "So, I'm in a van? Is McGee there, too?"

She nods. "You, McGee, Rossi and Stacey Burnett."

"Wait a minute. We were taken out by _one_ guy and a _woman_?"

Kate crosses her arms and glares at him.

He flinches. "Uh, sorry."

"You should be. They did have the element of surprise, though. Stacey opened the door and invited you in while she got her coat." She shrugs. "You're _you_, Tony. You were looking at her legs and -"

"Yeah," he interrupts tightly. "I get the picture."

"And now they're taking you somewhere that involves water -"

"Which can't be good -"

"No." She looks left and right. He follows her gaze but there's no one else in the dream town. "You need a plan."

"Thanks for the heads-up," he replies dryly.

"Look, they killed Robert Joseph Garvey."

"I weep."

"Yeah, me too, but the point is that now it's _your_ turn. They aren't likely to have a guilty conscience about two more bodies."

Tony laughs softly. "The profiler has spoken."

Kate just shrugs again. "It's what I do, Tony."

Only she doesn't do anything anymore, of course. She's six feet under in a satin-lined coffin waiting for Judgement Day like a good Catholic.

_Damn._

"So, you're a ghost. Can you pull some spooky manoeuvre? Seize the engine? Make them have traumatic flashbacks about their childhood or something?

Kate just looks at him.

Tony spreads his arms in askance. "What? I'm in a jam. Help me out, here!"

"This isn't a TV show, DiNozzo. That kind of stuff only happened on the X-Files."

Tony wags a finger at her. "Not true. Didn't you ever see 'The Ghost and Mrs. Muir'?"

Their conversation is interrupted as the big hand on the clock clicks loudly into place at the twelve and begins to strike the hour.

_One._

"You're out of time!" Kate declares, obviously distressed. "Something's happening. You have to wake up, Tony!"

_Two._

"You know, as a metaphor for urgency -"

_Three._

"- you think my subconscious would -"

_Four._

"- pick something less obvious -"

_Five._

"- than a clock."

_Six._

"Okay, listen. Rossi has a baseball bat and a handgun -"

_Seven._

"Have you seen 'Back to the Future'?"

_Eight._

"Wake up, DiNozzo!"

_Nine._

Kate slaps him hard across the face and he is suddenly very aware of the cold, damp ground.

He is lying on his stomach. He can smell exhaust and taste blood and wonders if his dental coverage has been maxed out for the year. There is no familiar weight at his side and he knows his Sig has been removed from his holster.

"Is he conscious?" It is a woman's voice but it doesn't belong to Kate.

"Let's find out."

Tony turns, anticipating the kick, but he doesn't move fast enough. At least the impact to his chest is lessened. He falls onto his back, winded and sore. When he opens his eyes, the flood of colour startles him. It's almost too intense, like having a flashlight swing across your face in the pitch of night. He tries to focus on the man standing over him, knowing there is only one of them but initially seeing three. He coughs and spits blood.

"Yeah," the man says matter-of-factly. "He's conscious."

"Don't hit his face anymore," the woman says. "He's pretty."

_Oh, great_, Tony thinks, feeling nauseous. _I have another loopy fan._

He locates her voice. Due to his head injury, _two_ Stacey Burnetts stand near the van, looking very happy. They are both dressed warmly in deep red pea coats and navy scarf and hat. As Tony watches, both women pull a pair of navy gloves out of a coat pocket and put them on. Then they reach back and move the same blonde hair out from where it was stuck in the collar of the coat. They notice him looking in unison and smile flirtatiously.

Insanity comes in all types of packages.

Tony closes his eyes for a moment and swallows the bile. He hopes when he opens them again there will only be one of anyone.

Fortunately, it works.

Sitting on the ground and leaning against one of the van's tires is Timothy McGee. His suit is rumpled and there is bruising already across his face. He's conscious and watching Tony with concern. McGee flicks his gaze to Federico Rossi and mouths one word: 'Gun.'

Tony presses his lips together in acknowledgement, not wanting the bad guys to know they're communicating.

"Get up," Rossi says tersely.

Tony places his hands on the ground and slowly pushes himself into a sitting position then rolls onto his knees. Still fighting for a tenuous hold on the conscious world, he looks for something to brace against when he tries to stand. There is a wall to his left. Surprised but relieved, he uses it to rise unsteadily to his feet and takes in his surroundings.

He's in East Potomac Park, not far from the Point and the sculpture he calls 'The Green Man'. He glances at his left wrist and his watch tells him it is 10:13. It's cold and the sun is weak but surely that wouldn't deter people from coming to the park. _Witnesses._ He notes the van is blocking the view of any casual observers and wonders if that's how they covered the disposal of Garvey's body.

A quick assessment of the immediate area determines that there doesn't appear to be anyone else braving the morning.

Rossi pulls a gun from behind him. Tony guesses it was stuck in the small of his back, held there by his belt. Not the safest or most comfortable option but the waistband can work in a pinch. Even in his condition, which can charitably be called 'confused', Tony recognizes the weapon. It is a Glock Model 21 in 45 ACP with adjustable sights.Glock pistols feature an excellent combination of reliability and accuracy. Ergonomic and able to accommodate instinctive shooting.

Tony has one of those secured in the gun locker at the bottom of his bedroom closet along with a few other handy weapon options. None of which he can reach right now.

The Petty Officer gestures with the Glock, smug and confident that he has the situation under control. "Help your friend so we can get this done." His voice brooks no argument.

"What do you hope to gain by killing two Federal agents?"

Rossi smiles. It isn't friendly. "Sat-is-_fac_-tion?"

It is a word Tony said not an hour before with the same inflection. He notes McGee's startled reaction and manages to suppress one of his own. He's a little spooked by it but he walks slowly towards the van. If there is an opportunity to make a move in the next few minutes, he's going to conserve his energy now. He has to at least get McGee home to his family for Christmas and ideally, be able to test the mistletoe again himself at the staff party.

Tony is the Senior Field Agent, and he'll be damned if it is going to end like this.

"That only works for Mick Jagger," he comments lightly. McGee is trying to get his feet under him, trying to use the van at his back as support. "Wait for me," Tony hisses at him. "You're in no shape to get up by yourself."

McGee's eyes narrow. "And you _are_?"

Tony reaches him and crouches until he can grip his friend under the arms. "You should see yourself, Probie. You look like shit. You have two beautiful black eyes developing and a goose egg on the right side of your head."

"You look like you've been hit by a truck," McGee whispers.

Between the two of them they are standing in under a minute. As they turn towards Rossi, making no sudden movements, a bright light blinds them.

Stacey Burnett is standing in the mud in size eleven hiking shoes, taking their picture.

She really _is_ tall.

The agents exchange a glance. If they talk about it at all, it certainly won't be now.

"Over to the wall," Rossi orders.

The sound of an engine interrupts. A standard issue car from the lot at NCIS is approaching at an excessive rate, not slowing down for the speed bumps. It is difficult to see the face at a distance and through the windscreen. For one brief moment Tony thinks it is Gibbs but as the vehicle gets closer it becomes evident that someone else is driving. Once the car comes to a stop near the van, a man that is best described as 'non-descript' gets out of the driver's side.

_Definitely not Gibbs._

Rossi and Stacey aren't alarmed by his arrival so that can't be good. The man is familiar but Tony can't quite place him.

"Dave Mitchell," McGee mutters, and Tony knows him in an instant. He knows everyone at the office and never forgets a face. The pain in his head must have briefly derailed his ability to recall even such a background character as Mitchell. Another piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

"Mitch," Tony calls out to him, using the name he calls himself at the office. The man has opened the passenger door and pauses, turning his head. "Nice of you to join us, buddy."

Special Agent Dave Mitchell darts a glare at Rossi. "What the hell are they doing here?"

Rossi shrugs. "You said they were coming over. We decided it was inhospitable to leave."

"I told you they were coming so you'd have time to get away!"

"This is much more fun," Stacey says firmly, obviously having given it some thought. She takes another picture.

"Did you bring us some hot chocolate, Mitch?" Never coffee or tea or apple cider. Always hot chocolate, even at the Christmas party. Tony ribs him about that on a regular basis. Why should he stop now?

Mitchell is pulling something from the passenger seat, something that struggles briefly to shrink back into the car before being half dragged, half carried over to the group at the break wall.

Tony's heart is pumping so hard that his chest aches.

_Oh god, no…_

She's wearing pink pajamas with little white bunnies hopping across the fabric. Her running shoes aren't tied properly and her pink terry bathrobe is about to lose the belt.

In less than a minute he is standing not ten feet from Katie Garvey.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**_To Be Continued…_**


	11. Chapter 11

**September 22, 2006:** Not quite done with this story yet…

Any characters you recognize belong to the NCIS universe and any you don't recognize belong to me. I write for the sheer pleasure of creating, folks - no infringement intended. This story still isn't being Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault.

**September 24, 2006:** My continued thanks to those who read and those who review my writing. Your comments and support are greatly appreciated. :)

I mention once more that I have never been to Washington, D.C., never mind somewhere as specific as East Potomac Park. My apologies if the real park doesn't match with how I have presented it.

In this chapter, we're still with Tony's perspective.

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Eleven**

**By lilmouse**

**_"Go on home to your kids, Herb."_**

_- Marshall Will Kane (Gary Cooper) to his Deputy Sheriff, just before Noon, 'High Noon', 1952_

The day has become cooler and the sky a bit more menacing, with sulking grey clouds racing low in the November wind. The surface of the water is dark and it peaks periodically with small whitecaps, like whipping cream. Two sailboats are moored further down the break wall and they rock with an irregular rhythm as the East Potomac River responds to the mood of the morning. Their rigging clinks together like drinking glasses at a bar. Patches of clear, blue sky struggle to reclaim the day but it looks like Washington, D.C. is in for some rain.

A small flock of birds take flight from one of the cherry trees about a half a mile to the north. They dip south and circle over the small knot of humans that wait near an old van then they swoop away, as if sensing they might become targets should they venture too close.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo doesn't blame them in the least.

He doesn't look at McGee, who stands beside him scarecrow still, trench coat flapping in the wind. No words are spoken because they aren't necessary. He knows that they are thinking the same thing, sharing the same tension. One last element has just been added to their predicament. It would be the perfect nightmare for any parent but neither Tony nor McGee have stepped into fatherhood yet. It doesn't really matter, though.

Being a caring human being is all that is required for the anger burning behind their eyes.

Katie Garvey has been brought to the park but she won't be offered a chance to play on the swings. She has been brought here to die with two NCIS agents who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tony assumes she was scheduled to appear here today and that he and McGee are just a bonus.

Or a complication, depending on which of the three villains you speak to.

Tony watches the little girl carefully, ready to do anything to help her. It takes a few seconds but through tears and terror, she finally recognizes him and jumps forward with a fragile cry. "_Tony!"_

It is a sound he will never forget. He has heard its like before. It is the type of sound made by the human voice when it most needs help, and it reminds him why he bothers to get out of bed every morning, why he strives to make a difference and have every day count.

He stares coldly at the man who calls himself Mitch and is considered a trusted part of someone's team back at NCIS. Mitch grabs at the pink robe Katie is wearing and almost lifts her from the ground in his attempt to restrain her. She screams. Tony takes a step forward and the gun in Rossi's hand levels on his chest. At a distance of a dozen feet, there is a very small margin for error. He isn't likely to miss.

"Relax, _hero_," the Navy officer says, smiling. "I'll let you have the girl if you can keep her quiet."

Mitch glances at him nervously then abruptly releases Katie. She stumbles but manages to wrap the robe back around her and runs for Tony. In three quick strides, he envelops her in his long arms and lifts her. He supports her weight easily despite his injuries and holds her shaking body to his chest. She hugs him fiercely as if he is the only thing in her young life that can protect her from the monsters.

At the moment, she might be right.

Tony steps back until he is next to McGee again.

"Katie," he whispers. She's sobbing into his jacket, her small hands clutching the material. Not knowing what else to do, Tony strokes her hair. "Shh, it's okay, shh." It isn't okay but if he can keep her calm, maybe Rossi won't get trigger-happy. "Katie, are you hurt?"

She shakes her head tightly. "No," she whispers, and then chokes as she says, "He hurt Marcie." Her face shatters and she wails. Tony tries to calm her by rubbing her back and looks sharply at Mitch.

"The woman closed the _door_ on my _foot_," Mitch states indignantly, as if that were sufficient provocation for violence.

"She's a _social worker_, Mitch, what sort of threat is she to a trained _federal agent_?" Tony knows he should probably reign in his anger but it wants to lash free. He remembers Marcie from the hospital visit, blushing in her Wal-Mart wardrobe. _Damn._ "What was she gonna do? Beat you with _paperwork_?"

"She isn't dead if that makes you feel any better, DiNozzo. I just knocked her out and stuffed her in a closet. She didn't have a chance to get a good look at me and I…" He glances at Rossi. "I didn't think killing was going to be a part of this."

Stacey laughs. It is a bright, light sound and Tony wants to strangle her. "What did you think we did with Robert? What do you think we're doing _now_?" She spreads her hands to indicate the two adults and one child who are clearly in danger of losing their lives.

"These are government agents, Stacey," Mitch protests. "It'd be like killing a cop. If we kill them, we've signed our death warrant." An argument is starting. Rossi is getting distracted by the debate and isn't focussed on his prisoners. The gun drifts lower.

Tony adjusts his hold on Katie, who snuffles into his shoulder, and manages to move closer to McGee. Without looking at him, he murmurs, "Probie?"

His friend and fellow agent matches his volume. "Yeah?"

"Can you swim?"

McGee stares at him as if he is mad. Tony notes it in his peripheral vision.

"Don't look at me, Probie. I don't want them to know we're talking."

McGee immediately finds something interesting about the toes of his shoes. "Tony, I've been hit in the head and am more likely to become disoriented and drown then have a chance of getting away."

"But can you swim?"

"Sure, on a _good_ day, but you're not in much better shape -"

"Probie, I can't see another alternative." Tony speaks softly but rapidly, his mouth barely moving so they won't attract attention to themselves. There isn't much time. He can feel it in his gut. "Here's the deal, amigo. We aren't armed. The vehicles won't provide enough protection even if we can get behind them and neither of us has the keys to drive. The bad guys now have _two_ guns and the trees are all the way over _there_." He gestures briefly with his head to the woods, which start some distance from the water's edge. Even if they were to run in an erratic path, they wouldn't make it. It is daylight and there just isn't enough cover.

The younger agent glances at Mitch and Tony realizes he hadn't thought about their co-worker being armed.

"This is crazy -"

"_Tim." _

He has McGee's attention now. Tony has just called him by his first name and he hardly ever does that except as part of a joke.

This isn't a joke.

McGee is standing about two feet away from the break wall. He's a tall man and Tony figures he has a high enough level of physical fitness to easily vault over it.

"When I say 'go', I want you to get over the wall as fast as you can, dive as deep as you can and stay under as long as you can. Don't fight the river. It's moving pretty well in places and should take you out of range faster than if you were swimming on a clear day." He looks over at the three villains of this piece then locks his eyes with McGee. "Do you understand, Tim?"

McGee swallows. "I do. What about you and Katie?"

"We'll be right behind you," Tony whispers, and he wonders if he believes they'll actually make it that far. Right now, all he can give is hope.

"It was _your_ idea!"

Mitch and Stacey aren't coming to blows but Rossi isn't doing very well as a calming influence. _Guy's got a_ s_hort fuse_, Tony thinks. _Gambler, risk-taker. That's what got you into this mess in the first place, isn't it, Federico?_

Sirens pierce the cold morning air. Rossi's head snaps up and everyone looks to the north. Tony can see several vehicles in the distance, winding along Ohio Drive at high speed, lights flashing. They are hindered by the speed bumps. One car leaves the road and roars across the neatly mown grass, taking the shorter route towards the van. The tires are chewing the hard work of the landscapers but it doesn't deter the driver. Tony bets his last dollar that it is none other than Gibbs himself.

"Shit!" Rossi turns back to Tony and raises his gun.

"No!" Mitch jumps him and they both lose their balance, tumbling to the ground.

The cavalry has arrived but given the level of sanity present, they can't safely stay to watch the show.

**_"Go."_**

That one, urgent word is barely a breath but McGee doesn't hesitate. He swings onto the top of the wall and does an awkward, shallow dive into the river.

"Hold on tight, Katie." There isn't time for anything else. Tony hugs the little girl close to his body and bolts for the river. A bullet shatters the wall to their left. He tucks and rolls, his back taking the brunt of the impact with the top of the wall, and then they're over and into the water.

Numbing cold embraces them.

He kicks further away from the wall, hoping to reach a spot where the water is moving swiftly. A silence presses against them. Katie must have been in shock before but now she struggles in his arms. She can't breathe, of course, but Tony knows he can't surface yet. It's too dangerous. A sharp pain bites his right calf as evidence and he hopes the bullet didn't do too much damage. The girl is growing still. He hopes he hasn't waited too long. Clutching Katie with one arm, he kicks hard and uses his other arm to propel them towards the light.

They pop into the waves like a cork. Tony drags in a deep, shaky breath and uses his lifeguard training from high school to keep Katie's head above the water as best he can. They're moving fairly quickly as the current takes them passed the sailboats. He glimpses a woman sitting on the deck of the smaller of the two, near the tiller, a cup of coffee almost at her lips. Her eyes widen as she sees them and she shrieks, turning towards the cabin.

"_Roger!"_

A wave smacks Tony in the face and he coughs as he swallows water. With any luck, Gibbs will have the trio in custody by now. He needs to get Katie to the shore. Between the cold and the length of time under the surface, he's worried about her. She seems so pale and still. His arms are getting tired and he knows he'll run out of adrenalin soon. A quick scan shows no sign of McGee.

_Damn._

To his left is the break wall, blurring by at an alarming rate: no chance to get ashore there. _Upon reflection, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea_, he thinks, but there isn't anything he can do to change what has happened. Knowing there wasn't another option at the time doesn't help him now.

Katie Garvey is his responsibility and she trusts him to save her. He has rarely felt so helpless.

_Damn and damn._

The river keeps pulling at him and the sound of churning water fills his ears along with his ragged breathing. His attention is so focussed on staying afloat and keeping the little girl alive that he almost misses the life ring.

It splashes just ahead of him, bright orange in black water. Someone is shouting from the shoreline. He notices more boats along the break wall; a small crowd of people, some of them on cell phones, and then the life ring is near his head. He snakes an arm through it and holds on.

The rope pulls taut. Tony guesses it is about thirty feet long. He has glimpses of several people holding onto the rope, one man as an anchor, and he can tell when they start pulling them in. Unfortunately, the river doesn't want to let go and a struggle for possession ensues. Two human lives are the prize.

He looks at Katie, knows she's breathing but knows she needs medical attention and warm blankets and hot chocolate.

_And she needs them now._

Still holding tightly to the life ring, he slides the little girl under and through. It feels like forever but he manages to get her arms draped around the solid, closed-cell foam so her upper body is safely above the water. There is extra rope, separate from the main line and probably used to hang the ring near the cabin. He yanks one end free and wraps it once around her chest and several times around the ring, tying it off. On shore, the people trying to help are being dragged by the strength of the river.

A fully dressed, soaking wet, wounded NCIS agent named Anthony DiNozzo probably weighs over two hundred and fifty pounds.

"Get her outta here!" he yells to the crowd, and lets go of the ring.

He hears screaming from the shore and then the current pulls him under.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	12. Chapter 12

**September 30, 2006:** I have it on good authority that Tony needs some assistance, and that I'd better hurry up and get it to him. :)

As always, any characters you recognize belong to the NCIS universe and any you don't recognize belong to me. I write for the sheer pleasure of creating, folks - no infringement intended. This story still isn't being Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault.

As a personal note, my Mum has been reading this story. As this week's episode of NCIS was starting, Mum saw the little girl and turned to me and asked what had happened to the **other** little girl, the one who was in the water? It took me a few seconds to figure this out, but her asking if Tony was alright, helped. She was thinking of my story and anticipating a resolution on the television. She realised her mix up at the same time I did. I thanked her.

What a compliment. :)

My continued thanks to those who read and those who review my writing. Your comments and support are greatly appreciated. I hope this chapter does not disappoint. :)

Upon rereading this, I've discovered that not much actually happens with regards to plot. There is some character exploration, though.

Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Twelve**

**By lilmouse**

**_"Do not forsake me, oh my darlin'  
On this our wedding day.  
Do not forsake me, oh my darlin'  
Wait, wait along._**

_**The noonday train will bring Frank Miller.  
If I'm a man I must be brave  
And I must face that deadly killer  
Or lie a coward, a craven coward,  
Or lie a coward in my grave."**_

_- From "Do Not Forsake Me (The Ballad of High Noon)", words by Ned Washington, music by Dmitri Tiomkin_

He has one heartbeat to take a quick shallow breath and then the world is shut out once more.

The water feels colder around his head than it does on the rest of his body but he knows his clothes are a factor there. They provide some insulation as well as pull him down a bit. His head was really the only thing above the surface a moment ago and even though it's November, the air is still warmer than the water. He hopes he doesn't become disoriented and lose track of which way is up, and he's worried about McGee. You don't go willingly into the water with a head injury unless there are no other options. It is a rule, right up there with waiting an hour after eating before racing for the ol' swimming hole. The situation was sufficiently dire that there were no other options. It gives him little comfort.

Of course, he has a head injury, too, but that's beside the point.

If McGee dies today, it will be his fault and he doesn't know if he'll be able to continue working as a defender of the public when he couldn't even save one of his teammates. The geek, the probie.

_His friend._

The river carries him and he doesn't waste his energy fighting it right now.

At least Katie Garvey is safe. One of those people he glimpsed using a cell phone will have called an ambulance.

He can't hold his breath any longer and uses some of his remaining strength to push for the surface. If he struggles against the river too much he knows he'll become exhausted too quickly. Then he'll drown and never know if McGee and Katie survive. Never know how the case concludes. Never know if the cactus Kate gave him last Christmas will ever flower.

Tony hasn't managed to kill it yet.

He gulps in air and doesn't swallow any more water. An American Airlines flight screams overhead as it approaches Reagan National Airport from the northwest, following the river as dictated by the airport regulations: more people coming to see the nation's capital, probably from Chicago. Tony knows there are noise restrictions and security measures, especially since 2001, but the river path is still used. The airplane passes through the ominous clouds like some creature from Jurassic Park. He focuses on it as if it is a beacon and follows it across the Potomac with his eyes, twisting his neck to keep it in sight as the water bounces him around.

_It keeps his mind occupied and gives him a reason to stay afloat. Whatever works, right?_

He tries facing the shore and manages a few strokes of the front crawl. He doesn't actually make any progress. The current is too strong.

Tony finds himself recalling the statistics mentioned in a seminar a few months ago, a boring event that was mandatory for all agents to attend. The air conditioning had broken down - _again_ - and he had decided that the room was sufficiently hot and stuffy enough to qualify as an oven. The theme was death: why it happened, how it happened, and how Washington ranked amongst American cities when it came to that sort of thing. The tired woman lecturing them had indicated that the civilian violent death rate in Washington, D.C., was forty-five deaths per one hundred thousand, topping Detroit - _barely_ - Baltimore, Atlanta and St. Louis. Only New Orleans was higher.

Tony had frowned as the woman droned on, knowing he had important case files on his desk that required his attention and that they were still going to be there when he was done with this stupid seminar. He had resented the beating his current home of choice was enduring. Sure, the death rate in Washington was high but it wasn't a war zone. She was speaking about the city like it was a juvenile delinquent.

_Gee,_ w_e're not doing too good, _he'd thought, fidgeting in his seat. _Guess we'll be voted off the island._

The statistics on drowning in Washington, D.C., during recreational boating activities weren't quite so dramatic but they had increased in recent years. Apparently, the U.S. Coast Guard cited the prevalent factor among drowning victims to be the lack of a PFD - personal flotation device. In 2003, 416 of the 481 people who died in the water were not wearing PFDs.

_**It feels like forever but he manages to get her arms draped around the solid, closed-cell foam so her upper body is safely above the water.**_

He suspects it was stupid to let go of the life ring - the only PFD he is likely to encounter - but he weighs too much right now and Katie needed to get ashore. What else was he supposed to do? Odd he should recall that seminar as he struggles to stay above the water. He'd been bored at the time and had tormented Kate by doodling on her notepad during the PowerPoint presentation. He hadn't really paid attention but the content had been absorbed, regardless. His mind is seizing on snippets of information, as if desperately seeking for clues to a crime scene. Anything that will help him survive until he is rescued.

Tony DiNozzo is determined not become a statistic and that helps his arms move faster.

Someone will be sent to find him and McGee. He has no doubt about that, whatsoever. He can only hope they'll both still be alive.

_Think positive, think positive -_

He has reached the tip of the 'jalapeno' that is East Potomac Park. There are a few people gathered there, probably tourists if the camera equipment he sees is anything to go on. He thinks one of them takes his picture as he zips by. Even though he's moving at quite a pace, he notes the look of horror on the man's face before the river becomes insistent and pulls him under once more.

_Guess he's never photographed a drowning man before -_

Tony goes limp and doesn't fight the current. It is wearing on his energy, the way rain erodes limestone, but it's the only solution he has right now. He smirks: _No puns intended._ He knows he's in danger of losing his life but he can still surface periodically, long limbs pressing against the current like he's doing resistance exercises at the gym, so he isn't done yet.

_Stubborn._

No, he isn't done yet, not by a long shot. He finds a small smile as he thinks of the usual quote about a fat lady singing that would fit right here, especially coming from his lips. He gives it a twist: _Maybe when Abby starts listening to opera._

He's picturing her in the Viking helmet when he realises he's running out of air. He struggles his way to the surface and gasps. It is harder this time. He's physically fit and not psychologically prone to panic easily. Aside from any other elements that make him Tony DiNozzo, those two factors are part of why he's still alive. His mind touches the concepts but doesn't dwell on them. They're just ideas with potential, possibilities, and provide reinforcement to keep moving.

_Think positive, think positive -_

His will to live can only provide assistance for so long and he is well aware of this. No one wants to drown and yet there are so many who do, even those noted for being excellent swimmers. He doesn't do too badly when it comes to the water but it is a hobby, not a sport. Basketball, football and baseball, in that order, are sports. Ducky had had the nerve to introduce him to soccer during one slow workday a few years back, when he was still green and freshly planted in Gibbs's Garden. He'd finished his reports in his eagerness to prove he was worthy and what had he received in return?

Soccer with Ducky, down in the Morgue, where Gibbs declared he could "learn a thing or two". It turned out that soccer was annoyingly addictive. He even watches some games by himself now and then, and occasionally kicks the ball around with some of the kids in his building. Soccer isn't a sport to him, though. It is a hobby, like swimming.

_Maybe because they both started with the letter 's' -_

He knows he's really in trouble when the theme from 'Sesame Street' starts looping through his head.

_And if I'm having trouble, how is McGee coping?_

Tony doesn't know if his decision has saved anyone today - except, perhaps, for little Katie Garvey, if the cold water hasn't already claimed her life. He doesn't know. He just doesn't know. She might be fine. She might be dead. It's impossible to know anything from where he is right now.

_Damn._

His eyes are suddenly drawn to his left wrist and the watch he always wears. It is a normal watch, fortunately with waterproof qualities. There are no special James Bond gadgets inside that he can summon with the press of a button, which is a shame. He can use all the help he can get right now. As he bobs helplessly away from land and towards Reagan National Airport, one clear thought descends upon him like an extra rush of adrenaline. It isn't the thought of a completely coherent mind, not after what he's been through lately. Not with the shock of Kate's death and chasing Ari and him nearly dying to protect Katie Garvey. Not with the beating he has suffered at the hands of Federico Rossi.

Not with the spectre of the Plague languishing on the sidelines, filing her nails and smiling as the river pummels him.

It doesn't matter whether or not the thought is even accurate or plausible.

_Magnum stayed alive by treading water in the ocean for almost twenty-four hours. If he can survive that long, so can I._

This isn't Hawaii, the water is freezing, it isn't the Fourth of July, and there is no shark he can name 'Herman', but otherwise, he figures it's _just _like 'Home From the Sea', one of his favourite episodes of _Magnum, P.I._.

He can work with that.

He checks his watch and starts timing how long he can tread water before he has to take a break and submerge.

The minutes slide by. The clouds finally make a choice and thunder rolls over the river.

Tony is under the surface when the rain starts but he can feel the thunder pass through his body. He can barely keep his face above the waves when he comes up for air this time. He's tired and the rain pricks him like a spill of sewing pins. It isn't serious yet, not a heavy downpour, but it doesn't have to be. He has water above and water below and he's going to drown.

He checks his watch and just the action of moving his arm sends him under before he is ready. He's shivering and can feel his lungs object to the exposure. No part of his body is happy, but his lungs -

Doctor Pitt had warned him. Doctor Pitt had been very firm about the cold and the damp and how he'd have to make sure he took every precaution to guard against infection. Bronchitis and pneumonia are not his friends, even though they circle him now like wary animals. The Plague is laughing.

Tony decides to call it 'Herman'. She won't like that. He doesn't know why he thinks of the plague as female, though it probably says something about his psyche.

He hated psychology. It had been a necessary evil in his first year of college, a 'squishy' course to expand his possibilities, or so the counsellors said. All he can remember is that Freud needed help dealing with his hostility towards his father, and it was a sad day when he discovered he could relate to him on some level.

He kicks free of the river's hold once more and shakes his head. The water caresses his ears. He can't seem to think of a female name, though, so 'Herman' will have to do. Being afraid is unfortunate, but having a nameless fear is worse.

"You can't have me, Herman," he whispers hoarsely at the rain. The Plague tightens her hold on his chest as the sky unleashes the storm.

Now it is pelting small stones instead of pins.

Tony consults his watch. He thinks it's only been fifteen minutes since he entered the water but he could be wrong. He wonders what the usual response time is for water rescue on the Potomac River. Wonders how many people are hurrying in the rain while Gibbs yells at them to get their shit together. Wonders if the paramedics have been able to save Katie.

They couldn't save Kate Todd. A bullet through the head is what it is: a mortal wound, an instant death. He recalls her flinching with crystal clarity. He hadn't realized at the time why. It was only when her blood sprayed across the right side of his face, when she fell, her sightless eyes staring up at the blue, blue sky, only then -

The paramedics arrived to place her in a body bag and escort her to Ducky's Morgue. She'd actually visited him down there willingly to watch soccer on a few occasions, much to the good doctor's delight. Her brothers were fans of the game.

_Shit._

He submerges once more. The water can't take away the smell of Kate's blood. It is a strong memory that he'll probably have for the rest of his life - though at the moment, he doesn't honestly know how much longer he has remaining. The water has numbed him to the point where he almost can't feel the cold anymore. It caresses his skin like silk.

_Can't let go. Magnum didn't let go -_

Why is he fighting so hard to live? He never thought that question would enter his mind. What will he get when all this is over? The satisfaction of a job well done? Sure. Justice will be served and he'll move on to the next challenge. Gibbs might smack the back of his head for letting go of the life ring. Will he praise him for his efforts? He doesn't know. McGee might not talk to him for a week because he was ordered into the river and his PDA was destroyed. Abby will hug him because he is safe then lecture him for worrying her.

He isn't like Gary Cooper. He doesn't have a steady girlfriend - or any girlfriend at the moment - never mind a wife like Grace Kelly to greet him when all this is through. Why does he bother? He knows he isn't the easiest person to get along with. His inability to commit existed long before he met Leroy Jethro Gibbs, but that man is an additional warning. He gave his heart to someone only to have her try to crack his skull with a golf club.

_It isn't worth the risk. Flirting is too much fun. He just hasn't found the right person yet. He doesn't want to get hurt. He likes his heart where it is, and he likes his skull intact._

He opens his eyes under the water and stares at the darkness. He didn't think it would end like this. He thought he'd die fighting the bad guys. He carried a gun so he'd be able to protect people and be the willing sidekick for Justice. If his time came while he was on the clock, making a difference, then so be it.

Tony never pictured his death in the water. It was always on land, during a shoot out or shielding someone from an explosion. He'd die doing something he believed in, something he couldn't screw up.

Flailing like an injured fish isn't how he pictured it at all.

Dangerous Rossi and Crazy Stacey and Mitch the Evil NCIS Mole are beyond his care. They will be dealt with or not and he has no say on the matter. He suspects there was more death once Gibbs and the posse reached the van but he doesn't know who died. If he was a gambling man - which he isn't, except with his life, 24/7, but that doesn't count - he'd place his money on Rossi going down.

_Typical, gloating, bully type-A male. Kate would've enjoyed kicking his ass._

Idly, Tony hopes Kate thought of him like one of her own brothers, even though he didn't play soccer. It would've been nice to have a sister like her.

He glides to the surface and gulps some air, almost like it doesn't matter, then submerges once more. He thinks of Katie Garvey and her love for 'The Little Mermaid' and wonders if Princess Ariel is in the neighbourhood and can pull him to shore. Maybe he could sprout gills like Harry Potter. Sure, why not? _Anything is possible -_

**_Is it possible,_** **_Anthony,_** his father's voice states calmly, **_for you to disappoint me any further? Or are you quite, quite done now?_**

Tony thrashes into the air, swallows some more water and tries not to panic. He isn't going to die like this, with his father's words mocking him, with 'Herman' laughing at him.

_Not like this._

He starts the front crawl again, arms like lead, every stroke a word, part of a mantra: _Not. Like. This. Not. Like. This._ He is still making very little progress but it doesn't matter. He's moving, he's alive, and he's not going to surrender his life to the river.

Grace Kelly is out there, somewhere, waiting to meet him, and he's damned if he's going to let her down.

There is a hum in the air, a distant droning that builds to a roar until it's almost on top of him. He panics when something wraps around his waist, irrationally thinking of the giant squid from '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea'.

"We've got you, Mr. DiNozzo," a man's gruff voice says, shouting to be heard over the pounding rain. It sounds nothing like his father. His hands push weakly at the arms around him. "Relax, you're okay, we've got you!"

"Have to keep swimming," he says through chattering teeth. He's pulled onto a yellow surface and another pair of strong arms wraps him in a heavy blanket. The dinghy moves with the river, flexing beneath them. There are two men with him wearing rain slickers but they're already soaked. Through sheets of water behind them, Tony can make out lights and the shape of a powerboat. As it moves closer, he can barely recognize the words 'U.S. Coast Guard' on the side.

Tony smiles. _Just in the nick of time_, he thinks, and then asks aloud, "Did you know I've had the plague?"

His vision tunnels and the startled faces of his rescuers fade to black.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	13. Chapter 13

**September 30, 2006:** Almost done this story. Back to the Potomac River…

Any characters you recognize belong to the NCIS universe and any you don't recognize belong to me. I write for the sheer pleasure of creating, folks - no infringement intended. This story still isn't being Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault.

Please note that I have had the good fortune of **never** being 'nearly drowned', so if the medical procedures or the rescue protocol don't match with reality, my apologies. Textbooks and the Internet will only take me so far.

I send a big thank you to all who read and review my writing, especially for your support with this story. Your comments are greatly appreciated. :)

**October 5, 2006:** Posting…now. Enjoy!

**Tin Star**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**By lilmouse**

**_"Then don't go back, Will."_**

**_"I've got to. That's the whole thing."_**

_- Amy Fowler Kane (Grace Kelly) to Marshall Will Kane (Gary Cooper), as he turns the buggy around and they ride back to town, 'High Noon', 1952_

It smells damp. He is reminded of a house in Long Island. Facing the back garden is a sitting room that isn't used except in summer. It is opened in the spring but the heat has been off and the air hasn't been circulating and the sheets covering the ornate furnishings are musty. Being near the water - you can walk through the back garden to reach the dock at the end - adds to the dampness. There are usually spiders nesting in the corners near the French doors. Opening that sitting room means long, lazy summer nights are just a breath away.

How long has it been since he has thought of that house?

His nostrils flare and pick up various scents: paper, wool, antiseptic ointment, lavender, and coffee. He tries to lift his arm to scratch his nose and realizes he can't. He tentatively tests the other arm. It appears he is wrapped in layers of blankets, cocooned like a mummy. There is something warm in each of his hands, like a balled sock. He takes a deep breath and lets it out again slowly. There is heating in the room, electrical, trying to keep the dampness at bay. There are pockets of warmth around his body, but not anything directly placed against his skin. He recognizes the key spots from his rescue training with regards to someone who has hypothermia: in the hands, on the neck, on the chest, on the stomach, on the abdomen, in the groin.

He is dry. He shifts and realizes he does have clothing on underneath all these blankets, but it certainly isn't the clothing he was wearing while he was in the water. It feels like flannel. It feels nice. This is a revelation all its own.

There is a thrumming in the air. It takes him a moment to recognize the sound of an engine. He licks his lips and sighs.

When the room moves, he opens his eyes.

He's in the cabin of a boat. _U.S. Coast Guard. Right. I remember that part._ There is a wall-mounted light and that is the only illumination. He carefully turns his head and looks to his right. There is a porthole and he can see the river roiling outside in what has become a dark morning in November. If he changes his focus, he can see his reflection in the glass.

He looks away.

"You're awake," a gruff voice says. Tony manages not to look too startled, or so he hopes. The voice matches the man who moves into the cabin. He's still wearing the slicker he had on in the dingy but the hood is back. Greying hair is plastered to his head and his face has enough wrinkles that if he were a cotton shirt, he'd need ironing. "I'm Bart. We're taking you to shore and then you'll be going to the hospital."

Tony swallows. "Thanks."

Bart chuckles. "Glad you're okay. The girls have been looking after you."

He senses movement in the corner farthest from the door. A woman is sitting there and he hadn't noticed. She looks older than a girl but Tony gets the impression that Bart refers to all females as 'girl'. Not as a chauvinistic term, but one of endearment, protection. The woman in the corner smiles.

"Hi, I'm Kitty." She stands and walks towards him, her steps dealing with the gentle rocking of the boat with ease. She tucks the blankets around him even though he doesn't think they need it. Her hair is short and dark and frames her face like the petals of a flower. She is the source of lavender. _Must be her shampoo - _"Warm enough?"

"Yeah, thanks." He tries to relax. "I'm Tony."

"Hello, Tony. I've heard so much about you." Tony looks surprised but she doesn't seem to notice. "We had to strip you down to prevent more severe hypothermia," Kitty adds matter-of-factly. "We've kept your clothes, of course."

Tony's mind goggles at the concept of this woman seeing him helpless and naked then realizes she said 'we'. "'We'?"

Bart laughs and leaves the room. Another woman, younger than Kitty, enters and smiles when she sees Tony watching her. Her hair is blonde and pulled back into a ponytail. She is holding a mug of what can only be peppermint tea. "Hey, there," she says, her voice accented with the gentle twang of the west. She adjusts his blankets even though he is positive now that they don't need any attention. "Warm enough?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I'm Lynn," she says, and smiles. "We have a pressure bandage on your leg wound. It looks like the bullet didn't do much damage, though. They'll deal with it at the hospital."

He manages a crooked smile in return. "Just a flesh wound?"

"Yep." Tony starts to laugh then is being held gently by two women as coughing wracks his body.

"Damn," Kitty says. "Your boss said you weren't kidding about the plague but we weren't sure if it was some kind of joke."

"And now we know it isn't," says another female voice. When he can focus again, he sees a young woman in the doorway, this time with freckles and curly red hair. Her accent says eucalyptus and Crocodile Dundee. Her make-up says MAC. She is holding a cup of coffee like it is a sacred chalice. He wonders if Gibbs has met her yet.

Kitty and Lynn lower him back onto the bed. Tony nearly jumps clear of them, despite his blankets, when he suddenly remembers. "McGee!"

The redhead smiles. "Tim is looking at the engine with Mike," she says. "He won't sit down and shouldn't sleep anyway."

"Not with the goose egg he has," Kitty adds. Lynn nods. Tony drops back to the bed, exhausted. "We found him first so he wasn't in the water as long as you were and he certainly doesn't have the added history of being exposed to the plague. You'll both be getting checked by a doctor." They are wise and professional, human and sane, these three women. The Graces could learn from them

The redhead sips her coffee. "I'm Ellie."

"Hey," he croaks, and looks at each of them in turn. "Thanks for…"

Ellie nods. "You're welcome." She fusses with his blankets. "Warm enough?"

He is surrounded by three beautiful women and has their undivided attention.

He should nearly drown more often.

"'Charlie's Angels'," he whispers, hoping not to trigger another bout of coughing.

They smile.

"I guess that makes me Cameron Diaz," Lynn says cheerily. He was thinking Cheryl Ladd but she wasn't born when the TV show was airing and might not know who he is referring to. Hell, he isn't old enough to have watched the show the first time around, either; he'd caught it on reruns. _Don't feel old now, DiNozzo_, he admonishes himself.

"I guess it does," he says, and smiles 'DiNozzo Smile # 79': friendly without being predatory, with just a dash of flirtation.

Kitty clears her throat and fusses some more. A flush creeps into Lynn's cheeks. Ellie says, "I'm going to see how far we are from the dock," and hurries away.

Tony's smile deepens and he closes his eyes, satisfied that he's still got it. It is further confirmation that he's alive and well and will see Kate's cactus flower after all.

Then the warmth engulfs him and the movement of the boat rocks him to sleep.

He dreams of summer days in Long Island, when he didn't have a care in the world.

xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

He wakes up in a white, sterile environment, complete with drawn curtains that billow as people rush passed. The warm blankets from the boat are gone. He has new blankets but they are cool by comparison. Someone is moaning beyond the curtain and the telephone won't stop ringing. A voice murmurs in the area beside him and somewhere, someone is crying. The PA system clicks into being.

"_Doctor Floss to ER, Doctor Floss to ER."_

He wonders if Doctor Floss ever considered going into dentistry.

"There you are, my boy."

Doctor Donald Mallard stands with the curtain pushed aside just enough for him to look in.

"Hey, Ducky." His voice sounds weak but he isn't surprised. His chest aches and tightens in an attempt to cough even as he thinks about it.

"May I?" Ducky gestures to the chair beside Tony's bed - which is a glorified stretcher on wheels - asking for permission. Tony sighs. The IV in his arm is too familiar. He hasn't been out of the hospital a week yet from his first injuries due to the Garvey case. If he's still in the emergency ward, then either they don't have a bed for him yet or - if he's very lucky - he won't be staying.

"Sure, Ducky. C'mon in."

The man does, his trench coat over one arm, his hat in hand. Both are damp so it must still be raining. He sits, straightens his glasses and smiles. The friendly uncle Tony never had.

"You look well, considering."

"Yeah. I should sell tickets."

"You have had a bit of excitement, haven't you?"

"Too much excitement. Is McGee -?"

"Still here, but I think they'll be sending him home soon."

"And Katie -?"

Ducky smiles. "Is safe in the children's ward, under guard, just in case something has been missed. And the social worker, what is her name -?"

"Marcie."

"Yes," Ducky says, slightly surprised that Tony has remembered her. "She'll recover as well. You've done a good day's work, Anthony. You should be proud."

Tony nods, glad there are three people he doesn't have to worry about but anxious for more information. "Do you know what went down? Did they get Rossi?"

Ducky nods slowly, his smile fading. "Oh, yes, they took care of Petty Officer First Class Federico Rossi, or rather, he took care of himself."

Tony stares at him, not understanding. "Suicide?"

The doctor shrugs. "That depends on how you view it, Anthony. He got in front of the car Jethro was driving and fired at it."

"And Gibbs didn't stop." It is a statement, not a question.

"No. Mr. Rossi chose his fate, Anthony. We all have that option, we all have choices."

There is a pause as Tony absorbs this news. Ducky watches him carefully. Tony is aware of his gaze. "And Stacey?"

Ducky shakes his head. "She struggled when they tried to take her away. She had to be… restrained." He sighs. "I would imagine she'll be up on charges for murder and kidnapping and attempted murder, and will certainly need to be psychologically evaluated. She has a history of instability, as I understand it."

"Ah." Tony isn't surprised but now that he knows it doesn't make him feel any better. "Uh, and what about Mitch?"

Ducky blinks and looks a bit uncomfortable. "Mitch?"

"Dave Mitchell. He's NCIS. He's the guy who leaked the information about Katie's location in the first place, which is why three agents died and we were trapped on the Garvey property and I was shot a few times and ended up in the hospital. And he's why Katie was at the park today." He hesitates. "It _is_ still today, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is…" Ducky consults his watch. "Four in the afternoon. You've been asleep for a while. They're monitoring you, trying to decide if they should keep you or not."

Tony groans. "Great. Now, about Mitch."

"Ah, _that_ Mitch."

_"Ducky -"_

"I'm sorry, Tony. He was killed by Mr. Rossi. If I understand Jethro correctly, it wasn't long after you went over the wall, just before the man made a stand in front of the car."

Tony stares at him. "Mitch stopped Rossi from shooting me." His voice sounds flat. He doesn't know if it is the acoustics in the small space or his exhaustion or the realization that one of the bad guys won't have the chance to do his time and try to start again.

The world isn't black and white. Tony knows this. He guesses Dave Mitchell was in the grey area and just got in over his head.

"Well," Ducky says, and stands. "I have to be getting back. There is still work to be done."

"Sure." Tony shakes the ghosts loose and focuses on his friend. "Thanks for stopping by." He finds a smile, 'DiNozzo Smile # 60', which is wide and genuine and grateful.

"Anytime, Anthony." Ducky pauses at the curtains. "Though I do recommend you stop needing the attention of hospitals."

"You said it, Ducky."

The curtain falls shut. Tony adjusts the flat pillow under his neck, careful not to tangle his IV line.

_Damnit, Mitch._

The curtain opens abruptly and Gibbs strides in. He's wearing the same grey suit he was wearing earlier. Tony notes the shirt is stained with blood and dirt.

"DiNozzo."

"Hey, Boss."

"You look like hell."

"Thanks, Boss. Glad you like it. It took me hours to get right."

They study one another warily. There has been an edge since Tony returned to work. He figures he must still be burning off his excess energy from being stuck in a hospital for so long. If Gibbs could stop treating him like fine bone china, maybe he'll get over it faster.

"We got Rossi."

"So I heard. He tried to become a hood ornament."

Gibbs sits without asking but then he came into the barely private space without asking, too. Tony catches himself sighing again. At least he can count on his boss to be consistent.

"He went a little higher than that."

Tony winces He knows what that means. "Did the windshield hold?"

"Oh, yeah, that's what they're made to do, but no one will be driving that car for a while."

"Ah." Tony glances down at the stains on the shirt then back to the unreadable blue eyes. "What happened?"

"I tried to save Agent Mitchell."

Gibbs doesn't have to say anything else. Tony can picture him applying pressure to the wound, doing compressions, yelling for medical assistance. Any and all to rescue the dying.

"I'm sorry," Tony says quietly.

"So am I."

"He saved my life, Gibbs."

Gibbs doesn't say anything but then, what else can he say? Tony has to try to be an investigator for a while or the day will overwhelm him, and he doesn't have time for that now. "Do we know why he was involved in the first place?"

"Gambling."

"What?" Tony is genuinely surprised. "Hot chocolate, go-to-church, never-use-a-swear-word Mitch? Gambling?"

"Yep. Got into debt with the wrong people and Rossi and Stacey used him to get to Katie Garvey."

"You've had a busy day."

"So has Abby. She's under strict orders not to get hurt or we'll have to move the office here."

They were short staffed to start with. Most teams don't work with a supervisor and only two field agents. Since the death of Caitlin Todd, her desk has remained empty. Gibbs has shown no indication that he has considered anyone a suitable candidate to take her place.

"Well," Tony says, then isn't sure how to finish the sentence. In fact, he isn't sure what he was going to say.

Gibbs stands. "Rest. Get better. Be at work on Monday."

Tony has a few days to get his feet under him again, then he'll be back chasing the bad guys - and trying to come to terms with another empty desk. He guesses that his boss has spoken with the doctors and knows his status well enough to give him the rest of the week off - and still expect him at work on Monday. Tony grins. That has to be a good sign.

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs turns at the curtains. "For what?"

"Driving like a maniac. Reaching us in time. Trying to save Mitch."

Gibbs pauses and Tony thinks he's just going to leave. He pulls the curtain and says, "Good work, DiNozzo." The curtain closes behind him.

It takes a few beats for Tony to realize he didn't get a head slap. He isn't sure what that means. He chews on his bottom lip about it for a few minutes before his thoughts are interrupted.

"Hello, Mr. DiNozzo." The woman who enters is wearing a white top and matching pants, but her lab coat has SpongeBob SquarePants dancing all over a blue background. He squints at her nametag: Marion. She checks one of the smaller pouches on his IV stand and deftly switches it for a new one. "This is more of the same and should help with the pain."

"And the other ones?"

"Saline and an antibiotic." She finishes her work and gives him a smile. "I've never met anyone who had the plague before."

"I hope to never have it again."

"Absolutely. You'll be better soon, cutie."

Tony finds a smile. "I'll try."

Marion vanishes behind the curtain and he is once more alone. It doesn't last.

"Hey."

"Is this Grand Central Station or something?"

McGee's smile falters a little and he looks like he's considering pulling his head back into the safety of the corridor. "I've caught you at a bad time -"

"Probie!"

"Yeah?"

Tony snaps his fingers and points to the chair. McGee enters and sits, moving as quickly as he dares. His face is bruised and swollen and one side of his head has an incredible bump on it. "What'd they give you for that?"

"Pain medication and ice. I can't be alone for the next twenty-four hours. I have bruising and a slight concussion but my brain isn't swelling or anything like that."

"I bet you have one doozie of a headache, too."

McGee nods very carefully. "I do."

"So, who is staying with you?" Tony thinks he knows the answer but asks anyway. He's being polite and nice and it probably scares the heck out of McGee but there is something soothing about routine. There was a point during the day that he didn't know if he'd see Timothy McGee again or not. Tony thanks whatever deity might have nudged the odds in their favour.

"Abby. I'm staying with her in the lab tonight." He shrugs. "She's got a lot to do. I'll help where I can and she can make sure nothing happens to me."

"Sounds like a fair trade."

"Well, I'd better get going." McGee stands and hesitates. "Thanks, Tony."

The medication is working already and Tony can feel himself being pulled under. "For what?"

"Saving my life."

"I threw you to the river, Probie -"

"Rossi would've shot us if we'd stayed." They exchange a look and a thought goes unspoken: _Like he shot Mitch._

"Glad you're okay."

"Same here." McGee walks towards the curtain then turns back just before leaving. "Oh. This is for you." He sticks a folded piece of paper into Tony's right hand and leaves, a small smile on his face.

Tony stares at his hand. He manages to open the paper and squints at the names and telephone numbers written there: _Kitty, Lynn and Ellie_. He smiles. What do you know?

"Don't get too cocky, DiNozzo."

Caitlin Todd sits in the chair that McGee was in only seconds before. She is wearing a suit that is the blue of a clear autumn sky. She looks as sharp as he remembers.

"I won't," he says. It is a promise he hopes he can keep.

Kate smiles. Her face is the last thing he sees before the drugs embrace him for a healing sleep. Maybe this won't be such a bad Christmas, after all.

_**End.**_


End file.
